


Ellipses

by geekymoviemom



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Hunger Games, Canonical Character Death, F/M, In-Panem, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 182,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekymoviemom/pseuds/geekymoviemom
Summary: Panem is a country where rules are made and enforced on the whims of the Peacekeepers, and district citizens randomly disappear without a trace. When the baker’s youngest son saves her from starvation following the loss of her father, Katniss Everdeen believes she’s finally found a light in her dark world.Until, he too disappears.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back with chapter 1 of my new story!
> 
> This is rated M for darker themes.

 

_Panem is a country where rules are made and enforced on the whims of the Peacekeepers, and district citizen randomly disappear without a trace. When the baker’s youngest son saves her from starvation following the loss of her father, Katniss Everdeen believes she’s finally found a light in her dark world._

 

_Until, he too disappears._

* * *

I wake, shivering in the night like I often do, the remnants of a half-remembered nightmare fading into oblivion as I roll over. Yawning, I stretch slightly, jostling my younger sister in the process. Primrose sighs in discontent as she shifts, her thin elbow poking me in my side.

 

Sitting up, I tuck the blanket around Prim before rummaging under my pillow for my most treasured possession, something I keep hidden away from the prying eyes of everyone else in the house. Something I can only bring myself to look at during the nights, when my loneliness threatens to engulf me completely.

 

It’s a crowded house, with eight people crammed into only three rooms. Following the destruction of nearly a third of the Seam in a fire almost six months ago, it was decided to replace all of the coal dust-infested houses in the Seam, so as to prevent another similar tragedy. And with the Capitol only providing enough materials for roughly half of the needed housing, families found themselves either needing to double-up, or remain sleeping in their rough fabric tents in the Meadow.

 

Since Hazelle Hawthorne and my mother were already widows, and cousins by marriage, it made sense for them to combine our families and share a house. After all, more hands meant less work for everyone. And with Mom frequently ill, more hands meant less burden for Prim and me on the days she’s out of commission.

 

It's not all bad. Gale Hawthorne, Hazelle’s oldest son, is a natural handyman, able to construct pretty much anything if given the necessary tools and materials. So far, he and his younger brother Rory have added a shed in the tiny backyard for the boys to sleep in during all but the coldest months, built a second bathroom so the boys and girls can each have our own, and reinforced the windows to better insulate the house during the winter.

 

But even with these improvements, it always seems cold in this metal, modular house. Even in the summer. And especially at night.

 

Under the pillow, my hand brushes against a book. A soft smile graces my lips as I pull it out, laying it tenderly across my lap. It’s a spiral-bound notebook, filled with charcoal drawings of such detail that the breath catches in my throat as I open the cover. I press my clenched fist to my mouth, willing myself to stay quiet, to keep this moment as private as possible. Night is the only time where I can allow myself to look at these drawings. The only time where I can allow myself to be vulnerable.

 

The only time when I can remember _him._

 

They say he was killed when his home was destroyed by fire, the same fire that killed hundreds more as it burned through parts of the Seam. The official story told by district officials was that one of the ovens backed up with soot and exploded, the resulting fire destroying both the bakery and the apartment above it before spreading down the street and into the poorer neighborhood.

 

But I know there has to be more to it than that. I knew the baker, my father and I traded with him regularly. I knew how meticulous he was about cleanliness, always sure his ovens were working properly in order to prevent such an accident. And the bakery was too far away from the Seam for it to have been the same fire, even considering the coal dust.

 

No. The bakery was destroyed to cover up something. And the Seam, well, is just the Seam. Coal miners are a dime a dozen, after all.

 

For several days following the bakery’s destruction, I didn’t allow myself to mourn, not wanting to admit just how much I missed the kind and handsome baker’s son, with his broad shoulders and ashy blond curls, and eyes the color of the clear sky in spring. Instead, I schooled my features into a mask and went about my regular duties. Hunting in the woods, trading with the remaining Merchant families, keeping enough fresh game in stock for bribes when Peacekeeper Cray came knocking.

 

But as time went on, I found I couldn’t deny the gaping hole his disappearance left in my heart. It was like losing my father all over again. Only this time it was worse, because he’d been the one who had helped me overcome the loss of my father. His arms had helped me to feel safe again. And then one day they were gone, just like that.

 

A muffled sob escapes my throat as I study the first drawing. It’s an almost perfect rendition of the first day of school, complete with the red plaid dress I wore and my hair in two long braids. My father is there, tall and dark, holding my hand as he crouches down next to me, whispering reassurances in my ear.

 

I smile as I turn the page, still same little girl in the same plaid dress, standing on a stool in front of the class, singing with all my might.

 

Page after page I turn, choking back tears as I come upon the picture of that day, that horrible day when I thought all hope had been lost. When I collapsed, soaked to the skin under an old apple tree, and the boy, sporting an angry red weal on his cheekbone, sloshed out through the mud to toss me two perfectly good loaves of bread.

 

I was too stunned to thank him, and too afraid I’d be accused of stealing to linger as I tucked the loaves under my shirt and hurried home to feed my starving sister and mother. But a few days later, with the boy’s eye still swollen and blackened, I dug out Mom’s old apothecary book. Using ingredients I found in the Meadow, I concocted a simple healing salve and brought it to the back door of the bakery, wordlessly shoving the little tin pot into the boy’s hand when he answered my tentative knock before turning around and running away.

 

A few weeks later I started hunting in the woods, alone and with Gale, bringing some of our kills to the bakery to trade for fresh bread. The baker was a generous trader, always giving me more for the game than the other Merchants, treating me like just another customer instead of the Seam trash the baker’s wife called Prim and me. During these trades I frequently saw the boy watching me from the kneading station, peeking around his father’s back, looking away rapidly if his eyes happened to lock with mine for a brief second.

 

I turn another page and almost immediately my lower lip starts to shake. Carefully, I reach my trembling fingers and pick up the dandelion, pressed flat into the pages of the book. The bright yellow flower I found near the wreckage of the bakery, the day I finally worked up the courage to go and see it for myself.

 

“I miss you!” I whisper into the darkness, the gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach flaring as tears roll down my cheeks. “I miss you so much!”

 

I never wanted to fall in love, never wanted to lose control that way. After watching my mother literally fade away to almost nothing after the loss of my father, I swore I’d never allow myself to be that vulnerable, that dependent on anyone else for my happiness.

 

But he left me with no choice. Somehow over the years, his kindness, and those blue eyes, had caused him to become rooted into my heart so deeply, I couldn’t get rid of him now if I tried.

 

And only a few short months after I finally admitted, to myself and to him, how I felt, that I loved him, he was gone.

 

They couldn’t even find any of him to bury.

 

“Katniss?” Prim’s voice is soft in the darkness, but it startles me nonetheless. “Are you okay?”

 

Sniffing, I swipe at my eyes as I place the dandelion back between the pages of the book, closing it carefully before sliding it back under the pillow. “Yeah,” I croak, lying down once again on the rough floor pallet. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep, Little Duck.”

 

Prim snuggles close to me, adjusting the blanket around us. “It’s okay, Katniss,” she whispers. “It’s okay if you miss him.”

 

I don’t bother to answer. It’s bad enough Prim caught me looking through the book. It would be better for everyone if I could just forget.

 

But as I drift back off to sleep, my younger sister snuggled up against my small, skinny body, one final thought floats across my consciousness.

 

_I don’t want to forget._

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass, as they always do. I hunt in the early mornings, bringing some of the haul around to the various Merchant shops to trade for necessities, hiding the rest to use for food or bribes as needed. Peacekeeper Cray hasn’t been around to the house in almost a month, which means he could show up at any time, demanding whatever his twisted heart desires for my monthly tesserae rations. So far I’ve been able to keep him satisfied with game, as even the Peacekeepers in Twelve look the other way for fresh meat. But the rumors of his appetite for young, virgin Seam girls run rampant throughout the district, and with three such girls in the house, I don’t want to take any chances.

 

Returning home, I wash the blood off my hands and change my clothes, gathering my things as Prim and I and the younger Hawthornes eat a quick breakfast of the hard tesserae bread and head off to school.

 

At seventeen, this is my final year of school, after which I’ll be expected to either find a job or marry a man who has a job and start having children. As the poorest district in Panem, District 12 also boasts the highest infant-mortality rate, due mainly to the majority of the population being unable to afford the most basic of healthcare services. My mother, with her experience from growing up in her parents’ apothecary, serves as the unofficial healer in the Seam, doing everything from delivering babies to treating chickenpox to setting broken bones. But even she can’t help everyone, and more often than not, when the patients die, it’s from illnesses or injuries that could’ve been prevented with proper medical treatment.

 

And so, in order to maintain a sizable enough population, each family is encouraged to have as many children as possible. Even if there’s no way to afford to feed them all. It’s been especially bad ever since the fire.

 

It’s not only an issue for me. My cousin, Gale, is in love with Madge Undersee, the Mayor’s daughter. Madge and Gale are both aware that the likelihood of Mayor Undersee sanctioning a marriage between his only child and a Seam coal miner is minimal at best, but that hasn’t stopped her from sneaking out of her grand house on many a night to spend time with Gale under the cover of darkness. Sometimes, when the Mayor is out of town for some reason or another, Madge will stay the entire night, sleeping out in the shed with Gale while his brothers stuff their ears with wool and try to keep their eyes averted.

 

At age nineteen and already holding a job, Gale’s already been asked several times, by Peacekeeper Cray and other district officials, when he plans to marry and move into his own home. He doesn’t have too much longer before suspicions turn into investigations.

 

The kind of investigations that often lead to disappearances. Like Gale’s father. And my father.

 

Madge is a friend of mine, in so much as we share a quiet table at lunchtime. We don’t discuss Madge’s frequent presence at my house, and we absolutely don’t discuss _him_ , even though Madge is one of the few people who knew.

 

His absence in my History of Panem class is even more apparent than usual today. Several times I find myself glancing back, expecting to see his blue eyes peeking at me through those blond curls that liked to flop over his forehead.

 

After I brought him that little tin pot of salve, I began to sense his gaze frequently trained on me during classes, only to flit away if I happened to catch him. It wasn’t until three years later, when he showed up at school with yet another swollen and blackened eye, that I managed to work up the courage to speak to him.

 

“I-, I can make you some more salve,” I mumbled in his general direction once the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. “It helps with the bruising.”

 

His face turned red to the roots of his hair, as bright as the apples I collected in the fall. “Ye-, yeah,” he stammered as he raked his hand through those blond waves, that sweet smile with just the right touch of shyness brightening his face. “That, um, would be great.”

 

I nodded, my throat too dry to speak further. But two days later, during my regular Saturday morning trades, I handed over another little pot of salve. Not as lumpy this time, and with better healing properties from the herbs I’d gleaned from the woods rather than the Meadow. And I was nowhere near prepared for the burst of unexpected warmth that rushed through me when my hand briefly brushed against his.

 

I shake my head, inhaling shakily as more tears threaten to fall. I sniff as I try to refocus my attention on the drone of the teacher, reading from the Capitol-approved textbook as if his students were in their second year of school instead of the final.

 

With the merciful ring of the bell I bolt from the chair, hurrying to my locker to retrieve my homework before heading down the hallway to collect Prim and our younger cousins. As we walk back across the Meadow to our tiny house, I think wistfully of the days where I’d find some excuse to stay behind after the final bell, hoping to catch a of glimpse of him in his wrestling uniform.

 

Maybe I shouldn’t look at the sketchbook anymore. All it seems to do is make me miss him more.

 

“Peacekeeper Cray was just here,” Mom announces as soon as we walk through the door.

 

My eyes widen in horror. “What’d he do?”

 

“It’s fine,” Hazelle chimes in, not looking up from her laundry tub. “We gave him everything you had down in the cellar. That seemed to make him happy enough.”

 

“For now,” I mumble. But Cray is becoming more and more greedy with each passing month, and I fear that soon a few wild turkeys and a couple of rabbits will no longer be a satisfactory payment for the tesserae rations Rory and I receive every month. Rory’s already pulled out of bed at least once a week to dig a ditch or chop firewood, or whatever else the Peacekeepers can think of to make our lives miserable.

 

“So what’re we gonna eat tonight if you gave all the food away?” Vick Hawthorne complains, clomping into the kitchen and tossing his battered schoolbag onto the table. “I’m gonna die if I have to eat another dumb tesserae cake.”

 

“You’ll eat what’s placed in front of you, and you’ll be happy about it,” his mother snaps, pointing her crooked index finger in his direction. “Your cousins’ honor is worth a few nights of stale bread.”

 

Vick rolls his eyes, plopping down onto a chair and scowling in his mother’s direction as he pulls out his schoolwork.

 

But later that evening, when Gale arrives home from the mines to nothing but a dry tesserae cake drizzled with honey, he vows to take Rory and go hunting and gathering during the night to replenish our stock of food. I immediately volunteer to accompany them but Gale rebuffs my offer, asking me instead to remain at home in case Madge comes around looking for him.

 

“But I’m the best hunter here!” I protest. And Gale knows it. While he’s a whiz with snares, he doesn’t have the accuracy or the range with the bow that I have. Especially in the dark.

 

“The forest is too dangerous at night,” Gale says, his grey eyes flashing as he licks a drop of honey from his thumb. “And I’ll have enough on my hands watching Rory’s back. I don’t need to be worrying about you too.”

 

“I can more than take care of myself,” I grumble, glaring at my cousin as he towers over me. But I know from experience that any further argument would be useless. Gale Hawthorne is as stubborn as Prim’s goat, a beast she calls Lady, and there’s absolutely no changing his mind once it’s set.

 

Gale and Rory set off after dark, taking the long way around to the fence to avoid the Peacekeepers. I wait up until after midnight, both out of nervousness and in case Madge decides to show. But when my eyelids grow too heavy to remain open I relent, snuggling up against my sister and falling into an uneasy sleep.

 

As I do on many nights, I dream of him. How his large hand would envelope my small one as he held it. How his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed. How much I hated when his mother cut his hair, always way too short for my liking. How I used to try and kiss away the pain from his bruises, even as he tried to hide the worst of them from me.

 

I’m shocked in the morning when I’m the last to awaken. Prim is already outside milking Lady in the soft light of predawn by the time I pull on my trousers and finish braiding my hair. I’ve just choked down another piece of tesserae bread when Gale and Rory come bursting into the house, both of them with full hands, with Gale carrying something that looks especially heavy.

 

“Draw all the curtains,” Gale commands his mother, who jumps up immediately to cover the four windows in the small house. “And clear off the table, he’s hurt pretty bad.”

 

Mom obliges right away, brushing the kitchen table free of crumbs as Gale places his burden down. I gasp as I see the man lying on the table, unconscious and so covered in muck and mud that his features are unrecognizable.

 

“Oh my God!” Posy exclaims as she enters the kitchen. “Is he dead?”

 

“Eww, he’s filthy!” Vick adds, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “It’s like he rolled in the mud on purpose!”

 

“That’s not too far from the truth,” Gale mutters as my mother returns with a basin of water and some rags. “Be careful. I saw at least three jacker stings on his neck and chest, and there’s some pretty deep wounds on his left thigh. We think he was clawed by something.”

 

Gale steps back from the table, allowing his mother to take his place. Setting down his full game bag, he grabs my arm as my mom starts to clean the man’s head and face. “You, um, may want to wait out back, Katniss. I’m not sure you’re gonna want to see this.”

 

Just then a loud, horrible moan emits from the still form on the table. “What do you mean?” I ask, panic rising in my chest. “Gale, who is that?”

 

“Katniss, please!” Gale pleads. “Just trust me! I don’t know how badly he’s hurt, and-“

 

We’re interrupted by another moan that’s even more agonizing and immediately my arms pebble with gooseflesh. The voice is so eerily familiar, all the air seems to leave my lungs in one fell swoop.

 

Hazelle takes the injured man’s hand, trying to shush him as Mom wipes the last of the thick mud from his face. My stomach drops to my knees as I get a closer look at him. His eyes are swollen and bruised, his face and neck are covered in cuts and scrapes, and I count at least three tracker jacker lumps on his chin and jaw. But there’s absolutely no mistaking who he is.

 

“Peeta!” I cry, my high-pitched voice unrecognizable to my ears. “You’re alive!” I rush to his side on wobbly legs, grabbing his other hand as gingerly as I can, pressing it against my cheek as tears roll down my face, dripping onto his matted hair. “I’m here, Peeta, it’s okay now. You're gonna be okay.” I look at my mother. “He’s gonna be okay. Right?”

 

“We’re going to do everything we can, Katniss,” Mom answers, not looking up from her patient. “But I won’t know how badly he’s hurt until we can get him cleaned up.”

 

No, no, no. After all these months of believing him to be dead, I’m not going to get him back now only to lose him again. Prim slides a chair over to the table near Peeta’s head, and I sink down onto it gratefully. “You’re gonna be fine,” I whisper into his ear. “We’re gonna fix you up and you’ll be just fine. You’ll see. And then I’m never letting you out of my sight again!”

 

“Vick, come here and hold down his shoulders,” Hazelle says as my mother digs around in her bag for her ancient forceps, poking at a lump on Peeta’s jaw to find the tracker jacker stinger and commanding Prim to crush some chamomile leaves.

 

Grumbling, Vick places his hands flat against Peeta’s shoulders. Peeta flinches at the touch, thrashing his lower body as Rory grabs ahold of his legs to keep them still.

 

“He needs to be as still as possible until all the stingers are removed,” Mom says as she pulls out the inch-long, jagged stinger. “Or they’ll release more venom into his blood.”

 

“Shh, Peeta,” I whisper, squeezing his hand as I stroke his dirt-streaked cheek. “Try not to move, we’re trying to help you.” I look up at Gale, cleaning the mud off his hands with a wet rag. “Where’d you find him?”

 

Gale sighs as he scratches the back of his neck. “We were pretty deep in the forest, tracking a doe when Rory nearly tripped over him in the dark.” He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired eyes. “He was unconscious, lying in a heap at the foot of a clump of trees. We think he climbed up for the night and disturbed a jacker nest. He probably fell out after he was stung.”

 

“But he doesn’t know how to climb trees,” I say, confused. “I tried to teach him a couple times, but he never could get any higher than a few feet.”

 

“Well, he was up pretty high from what we can guess,” Gale replies, shrugging. “At first I thought he was dead.”

 

A violent shudder rips through my body. “He’s not gonna die,” I choke out, shaking my head frantically. “I won’t allow it.” I turn back to look at my mother. “He’s not gonna die, right Mom?”

 

Again, Mom doesn’t even look up. “As long as he didn’t hit his head too hard when he fell, and his leg’s not too badly infected.” She nods at Hazelle. “Let’s get his pants off now and take a look.”

 

Peeta’s clothes are so plastered with mud and grime that Mom and Hazelle are forced to cut them from his body. I blush, squirming uncomfortably as they finally remove his pants, leaving him in nothing except his sodden and filthy undershorts. Hazelle sends Posy outside to rinse the garments at the water pump, ordering Vick and Rory to keep holding him still while Mom preps a fresh rag with her homemade disinfectant.

 

For all my experience with shooting and prepping animals, the sight of a human wound still turns my stomach. So I am in no way prepared when I see the three deep, inflamed gashes lashing across Peeta’s thigh, oozing both blood and pus. The smell alone is enough to make me gag, with Peeta’s anguished cries of pain the only thing keeping me anchored.

 

I turn my head away, burying my face into Peeta’s neck, searching for that familiar scent of cinnamon that always seemed to seep from his skin. But right now, all I can smell is dampness and grime.

 

Mercifully, Peeta passes out about two minutes after Mom starts on his leg. It takes her and Hazelle over an hour to dig all the infected tissue from the wounds, bathing them with water and disinfectant and bandaging him up as best they can with our meager supplies.

 

“You should head on to school now, Katniss,” Mom says, carefully covering Peeta’s lower half with a blanket. “You’ll be late if you wait too much longer.”

 

I shake my head, gripping Peeta’s hand tighter. “No. I can’t leave him. I won’t leave him.”

 

Gale comes back into the kitchen, dressed in his mining jumpsuit with his dark hair dripping wet. “She should be okay if she misses a day,” he says to my mother. “But I need to get going.”

 

Mom sighs, nodding as Gale picks up his dented lunchbox. He going to be dead on his feet today after hunting all night. “Gale!” I say, grabbing his arm as he passes the table. “Thank you, for saving him.”

 

He nods, his grey eyes troubled. “Just be careful, Catnip. We have no idea where he’s been all this time.” He pauses, glancing down at Peeta suspiciously. “Or what’s been done to him.”

 

The tone of his voice causes me to shiver. “What do you mean?”

 

Gale only shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying from his wet hair. “Just be careful,” he repeats as he walks out the door.

 

 _Peeta would never hurt me_ I think as I shift on the hard, wooden chair, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles. He’s changed a little since I last saw him. His shoulders are broader and his arms more defined, like he’s been training with weights. His hair is too short, almost as short as the Peacekeepers’ haircuts, but still as downy soft as I remember.

 

“I missed you so much,” I whisper to him, trying not to let my mother and Hazelle overhear. “I was incomplete without you.”

 

Peeta starts to stir around midday, smacking his cracked lips. I quickly soak a clean cloth with water and hold it to his mouth, allowing him to drink until he turns his head away. His forehead is warm and his eyes still swollen, but he manages to pry them open a few minutes later, looking quizzically at his surroundings.

 

“It’s okay, Peeta,” I whisper. “You’re safe. It’s safe here.” Which isn’t really true. No one is truly safe in District 12, except for maybe the Peacekeepers. And even they have to bow to the whims of the Capitol on occasion.

 

Peeta groans as he turns his head towards me, and I gasp as his blue eyes land on mine for the first time. They’re as beautiful as I remember, a color I always associated with spring and happiness just as much as the bright yellow of the dandelions.

 

“It’s me,” I murmur as he continues to stare, his eyebrows slowly knitting together in confusion. “It’s Katniss.”

 

But there’s absolutely no recognition in his eyes as he bites down hard on his chapped bottom lip. His breaths grow shallower as he glances frantically around the room, trying and failing to get his bearings.

 

I look over at my mother, busy sewing up a hole in one of Vick’s socks. “Mom! Something’s wrong with him! He doesn’t know me-, something's wrong!”

 

I repeat his name, running my thumb across his knuckles, my other hand stroking his hair trying to soothe him as Mom rushes over, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and grabbing his wrist, feeling for his pulse. His eyes squeeze shut, his head shaking back and forth as I say his name over and over.

 

“Peeta, it’s okay!” I say, looking up at my mother in desperation. “You’re okay! I’m here with you! You’re safe!”

 

Mom grabs another rag, dampening it with a solution of lavender and chamomile and holding it near his nose so he can breathe in the calming scent. “He has a very high fever, Katniss,” she says as his breathing evens back out. “A fever like this can cause confusion in some people.”

 

I choke back a sob, trailing my fingers along his swollen jawline. “You’re gonna be okay, Peeta. Once we get you healed up, you’ll be okay.”

 

Finally, a few agonizing minutes later, his head again turns towards the sound of my voice. But his eyes remain vacant, like he’s staring at a wall instead of the girl he once said he loved.

 

“Peeta?” I say softly, clutching his hand. “Do you know who I am?”

 

He inhales a deep breath before opening his mouth, his voice hoarse and so cold it sends a shiver down my spine.

 

“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to post new chapters weekly on Mondays. Since Christmas falls on a Monday this year, I will either skip that week or post later in the week. :)
> 
> I'm anxious to see what you guys think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you all so much for the response to the opening chapter! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far!

_ “Mr. Crane,” Antonius says, sweeping into the Control Room with his usual lack of greeting. “I require an update on Eighteen’s progress.” _

 

_ Head Trainer Crane swallows hard, barely concealing his irritation. Minister Antonius’s presence is rarely welcome in the Control Room, but Crane doesn’t dare say anything. Being Head Trainer is not the most secure job in Panem. Crane has seen a few of his predecessors removed from their post for far less costly infractions than misplacing an asset. _

 

_ “We’ve… lost contact with Eighteen for the moment, sir,” Crane says in an even voice. “There was an unexpected surge in his heart rate and blood pressure about three hours ago. This seems to have caused his tracker to cease to function.” _

 

_ Antonius blinks. “His tracker has ceased to function?” _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Crane replies. _

 

_ “And where did this unfortunate event occur?” the minister asks. _

 

_ Crane squares his shoulders. “His last known position was approximately five miles from the target.” _

 

_ Minister Antonius turns slowly on the polished heel of his boot. “I see,” he says softly. “And what, exactly, is being done to locate him?” _

 

_ “This is not an unheard of complication,” Crane replies quickly. “It has happened a couple of times before. Often only due to something as simple as a malfunctioning tracker.” _

 

_ Antonius closes his eyes, trying to maintain his patience. “I shall ask again, Mr. Crane. What exactly is being done to locate Eighteen?” _

 

_ Crane takes a deep breath, his thumb and forefinger running along his closely cropped beard. “Our protocol, sir, is to wait seventy-two hours from the time of deployment until check in. If he is still alive, Eighteen has twelve hours left-” _

 

_ “And if he doesn’t check in in twelve hours?” Antonius snaps. “What then?” He moves closer to Crane, the shiny black baton attached to his belt tapping against his thigh with each step. “I hope it is not necessary for me to remind you of the importance of this mission!” _

 

_ “No, sir,” Crane says with a quick shake of his head. “The importance of this mission is understood completely.” _

 

_ There's a moment of silence as Antonius glares at Crane, his thick eyebrows twitching like fat caterpillars over his steely eyes. “Very well,” Antonius says. “You have your twelve hours. If he’s not located by then, I’m sending in the asset for retrieval.” _

 

_ Gulping, Crane nods. Requiring the use of a retrieval asset will go down as a reprimand on his record, and too many reprimands often lead to unpleasant things, such as early retirements. “Yes, sir.” _

 

* * *

I sit in the dim light of the kitchen, still clutching Peeta’s hand as if it’s a lifeline. But a lifeline to what, I’m no longer sure.

 

_ He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t remember me. Doesn’t love me. _

 

My lower lip quivers as I study his face, his brow furrowed in pain. I rub my thumb along the creases, trying to smooth them as I choke back more tears. I'm so tired, and my chest feels heavy, the usual burden of grief I’d been carrying replaced by one of a different kind.

 

_ I never imagined you would break my heart. Much less twice in the span of a few months. _

 

It’s as if all those months I spent mourning him, missing him, don’t matter at all.

 

Following his initial outburst, Peeta became more and more agitated, asking questions that didn’t make sense, demanding over and over if we were going to kill him, and in general making so much noise that Mom was forced to dip into her dwindling supply of morphling to quiet him down.

 

The morphling injection knocked him out, but not before he managed to reopen the worst of the wounds on his leg, forcing my mother to stitch it closed. She’d been reluctant to do it earlier due to the increased risk of infection, but when it got to the point of either watching him bleed to death or risk the infection, I begged her to risk the infection.

 

Prim and the younger Hawthornes arrived back from school a couple of hours ago, with Prim bringing my homework and saying she’d told my teachers I was sick. I thanked her while trying to keep my tears reigned in. More tears won’t do me or Peeta any good right now.

 

It’s now almost sundown and I’ve barely moved from Peeta’s side. Mom keeps saying that his high fever combined with the venom from the tracker jacker stings are responsible for his confusion, but I don’t believe her. I saw Peeta’s face when he first looked at me. There was absolutely nothing there. No joy at seeing me, no tenderness or affection. There were no emotions present in his blue eyes at all, save suspicion and fear. 

 

Gale arrives home from the mines, frowning when he sees me still holding Peeta’s hand. Mom sends Prim out to the Meadow to find more calendula and chamomile leaves while Posy harvests the last of the garlic from our small garden, crushing the bulbs to make more disinfectant for Peeta’s leg.

 

“We’re not gonna be able to keep him here very long,” Gale says, accepting a bowl of rabbit stew from his mother. “You know Cray or one of his lieutenants will come sniffing around here eventually.”

 

My heart leaps into my throat. “I’m not sending him away! He’ll die from his wounds without our care! And where would he even go? Everyone thinks that he’s dead!”

 

Gale’s stony features soften a little when my throat catches on the word ‘dead’, but he still shakes his head. “I know that, Katniss,” he says, speaking to me like I’m a small child. “But think about it. He’s not supposed to be here.” He wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he gets to his feet. “I have no idea what Cray would do if he’s discovered here, but I know it wouldn’t be anything good.”

 

A traitorous tear rolls down my cheek. “So what should we do?”

 

“Cray was just here yesterday,” Hazelle says, shooting her oldest son a sharp look. “That gives us at least a couple weeks before he’ll come ‘round again, if he sticks to his usual routine.”

 

“But Peeta won’t be better in a couple weeks!” I say, looking over at my mother. “His leg is so bad, it’s going to take longer than that!”

 

Gale huffs out a breath. “I’ll ask Madge if she has any medicine that might help. I know her mom has a stash of stuff from the Capitol. There might be some anti-infectives in there.”

 

I nod in relief, even though I’m skeptical. Madge’s mother is often ill with headaches that keep her bedridden, and as the wife of the Mayor she has access to Capitol medicine. But I can’t imagine why her headache treatment would include anything for an infection this severe.

 

“Thank you,” I tell him.

 

Gale grunts in reply, heading out to the water pump to clean the coal dust from his hair as Prim rushes back in, her basket filled with her bounty from the Meadow.

 

I turn back to Peeta, gently combing my fingers through his closely-cropped hair. “You’ll be okay,” I whisper. “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

_ And then, maybe you’ll remember that you love me. _

 

* * *

But by the fourth day my confidence is shaking badly. Peeta’s fever has remained high, so high that yesterday Mom was forced to remove the stitches from his leg wound and reopen it, draining what seemed like another bucketful of pus. He’s barely been conscious this whole time, only managing to take in water and a little broth I’ve been able to feed him. His skin is flushed and dry and his eyes sunken and dull, devoid of emotion. He looks like something out of one of my nightmares, but I still refuse to leave his side.

 

Gale finally manages to get word to Madge, who shows up at the house after dark bearing a vial of some yellowish liquid that my mother recognizes as an anti-infective. Drawing up the appropriate dose, she injects the drug into Peeta’s uninjured thigh, instructing me to gently massage the injection site to help distribute the medicine.

 

“He’ll need injections every four hours until the vial is empty,” she says as she cleans off the syringe with white liquor. “We can take turns during the night.”

 

“No,” I say, scowling and shaking my head. “I’ll do it. You can show me how and I’ll take care of it.”

 

Mom’s shoulders sag in frustration, but she knows better than to argue with me. She lost that right when she abandoned Prim and me to starve after my father disappeared. It’s not until I completely miss my mouth with the spoon while trying to eat supper that she insists I lay down on the pallet and get some sleep.

 

“I’ll watch him through the night, Katniss,” she says as she covers me with the scratchy wool blanket. “He’ll be okay without you there for one night.”

 

“You’ll wake me if he wakes up?” I ask, as more useless tears slide down my face.

 

Mom presses her lips together, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Just sleep, Katniss. You’ll feel better after you sleep.”

 

As exhausted as I am, Peeta still haunts my dreams. I hear the sound of the blow against his cheek the day he threw me the bread. I see his blue eyes meeting mine during school, only to flit away. I feel the touch of his thumbs gently stroking my face, right before his lips press against mine. I nearly drown in sadness when I find the single yellow dandelion, growing right next to the remains of the destroyed bakery.

 

To my surprise, I’m the last person up in the morning, waking only when Prim gets up to milk Lady. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I hurry over to Peeta, taking his hand as Mom injects him with another dose of the anti-infective.

 

“He’s doing better now, Katniss,” Mom says, her cheeks pale with exhaustion. “His fever broke about three hours ago.”

 

I gulp back a sob as I bring his hand to my lips. His face and chest have lost their flushed, feverish look, but now are as pale as flax and covered in sweat, with his lips an eerie yellowish color.

 

“He’s dehydrated,” Mom says as she bathes his forehead and neck with lukewarm rags. “We need to make sure he gets plenty of fluids today.”

 

“I can do that,” I say quickly. “You go and rest now.”

 

“No, Katniss,” Gale pipes up as he walks over to the table. “You’ve missed enough school as it is.” He pauses as he fastens the buckles on his mining jumpsuit. “Cray caught up with me yesterday when I was walking home, asking where you’ve been. We don’t need to draw more suspicion here than we already have.”

 

Glaring at Gale, I clutch Peeta’s hand tighter. “I’m not going to leave him-“

 

“It’s all right, Katniss,” Prim says as she steps into the house from the backyard, lugging a small pail full of goat’s milk that she places next to the fireplace. “I can stay with him today.” She pulls up a chair on Peeta’s opposite side. “He’ll be okay.”

 

I hesitate, glancing back and forth between Prim and Peeta. I know Gale is right. I’ve already missed three days of school, and I haven’t hunted, or even left the house, since Peeta was found. It’s no wonder Cray’s becoming suspicious, fake illness or not.

 

“Okay,” I mumble. I reach for the tie on my messy braid, working my fingers through the tangled hair. “Thank you.”

 

I wash my face and hands, changing out of the clothes I’ve worn for the past week. After eating a quick breakfast of tesserae bread, I rebraid my hair as Vick, Rory and Posy finish getting dressed.

 

Sliding my feet into my boots, I walk back over to Peeta, tracing my finger along the outline of his strong jaw, careful to avoid the still-tender tracker jacker lumps. He stirs slightly at my touch, his face turning into my hand like he always used to.

 

_ Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe it was the fever causing his confusion.  _ I’ve never seen anyone else survive such a prolonged duration of fever. Maybe there is still hope.

 

Prim wets another rag, laying it across Peeta’s forehead. “Katniss,” she says quietly. “I know this whole thing with Peeta is horrible for you. But remember, he’s been gone for months, and we have no idea what he’s been though. He survived one of the worst infections Mom’s ever seen, so we know he’s strong.”

 

“He’s always been strong,” I whisper as I cup his cheek. “He’s one of the strongest people I know.”

 

“And there’s a good chance he’ll come back to you,” Prim continues. “So try not to lose hope.”

 

I look at my little sister, marveling at how she has inherited the best qualities of our parents, our mother’s healing hands and our father’s level head. It also pains me how quickly she seems to have grown up in the months since Peeta disappeared. Almost as if she knew I’d need her support and protection, like she’d always had mine.

 

Walking around to the other side of the table, I crouch down, engulfing her in a hug. “I love you,” I murmur into her hair. “And thank you.”

 

Her thin arms tighten around me. “You’re welcome. And I love you too.”

 

As my cousins and I walk along the dirt path to the school, Peacekeeper Cray approaches, his thin lips twisting into a smirk as he sees me. “Nice of you to rejoin the rest of us, Miss Everdeen.” His eyes trail maliciously up and down my body, and I have to repress my shudder of revulsion. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come over and check on you myself.” He steps closer, so close I can feel his breath in my hair. “Make sure you were recovering properly from your… illness.”

 

I hold my breath as my heart starts to pound, fighting the urge to look away. “I was-, I was sick,” I mutter, hating how week I sound. I clear my throat, backing up slightly as I square my shoulders. “I was very sick, and now it’s spread to my sister. So I wouldn’t recommend visiting our house until she’s better.”

 

Cray scoffs, reaching his gloved hand to grasp my braid, trailing down its length until it drops against my chest. “Oh, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about me,” he sneers. “I never get sick.”

 

“We need to get going,” Rory says, slowly maneuvering until his tall, lanky body is sandwiched between Cray and me. “Or we’ll be late for school. If you’ll excuse us, Peacekeeper…”

 

Cray grins as he slowly backs away. “By all means, proceed,” he replies. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon enough.”

 

“Gale’s not gonna like this,” Rory mutters as we continue on down the path. “Callie told me yesterday that Cray took her older sister for the night just two days ago. It’s only a matter of time before-“

 

“Then don’t tell him!” I snap, hiding my face so Rory can’t see the tears threatening to spill over. I’ve cried more in the last week than I have ever in my life, and yet the tears just keep coming. “He doesn’t need to know.”

 

Rory scowls but doesn’t answer, hurrying his brother and sister along as the bell rings to start the school day. “You wait for me to walk home,” he calls to me as he disappears down the hallway towards his classroom. “I don’t think you should be seen alone.”

 

I nod as I swipe at my eyes before entering my own classroom. At age fourteen, Rory’s already so much like his older brother that aside from their height difference, it’s getting more and more difficult to tell them apart. But he also reminds me a lot of Prim. He was only eight when his father disappeared, so he hasn’t had the same burden of responsibility that Gale and I have had. He’s still somewhat innocent, although no one can remain truly innocent in District 12 for too long. Especially the Seam kids on tessarae.

 

Not surprisingly, I haven’t missed too much during my absence. School here is mainly a government indoctrination program rather than actual learning. Oh, we learn how to add and subtract and write and read, as long as the reading material is Capitol-approved of course. But every single subject taught is laced with propaganda, designed to ensure the district citizens know their places in the grand scheme of things.

 

There’s the Peacekeepers at the top of the ladder, the true rulers of Twelve despite the presence of the Mayor, who’s more of a figurehead than an actual leader. Next comes the Merchant class, to which Peeta’s family belonged before the bakery was destroyed, leaving no apparent survivors. They cater to Peacekeepers, officials, and other Merchants. Only rarely can a person from the Seam afford anything from one of their shops.

 

Then there’s the Seam, where we live. The small, grey houses lining the black cinder streets, the coal dust that settles over every single surface. We’re the majority of the district; the unskilled laborers, coal miners, ditch diggers, and whatever else we can find that needs doing so we can scratch out our meager existences.

 

We’re also the people that the Peacekeepers seem to watch the most, making sure we don’t step out of line or forget our place in society. Gale says it’s because they’re afraid of us, but I only ever hear him say stuff like that when we’re deep in the woods. Never in town or at home where we might be overheard. I’ll bet he and his crew have some interesting discussions down in the mines. I can’t imagine there’s too many Peacekeepers who follow them down there.

 

Rory is waiting for me with Vick and Posy after the final bell. I look longingly towards the end of the Meadow as we walk home, where our old house used to stand. The house where Prim and Mom and I lived with my father, before he vanished without a trace.

 

After the fire the entire Seam was torn down, replacing the old wooden homes with the metal, modular ones from the Capitol. Theoretically, these types of houses would be less likely to succumb should another fire occur, and I suppose that would be true. But the lack of an adequate number of replacement homes, requiring families to double or even triple-up, hasn’t done anything to reduce the mortality rate in the Seam. With the lack of affordable medical care, one simple case of the flu can wipe out ten or more people at a time.

 

Arriving at our front door, Rory holds it open, allowing the rest of us to step inside. The first thing I notice as I enter is the sound of Peeta’s voice. He’s awake, and talking to my sister. My shoulders sag, wishing mine could’ve been the first face he saw when he woke up.

 

“It’s okay,” Prim says soothingly to Peeta, dressed in one of my father’s old sweaters. She gestures me to approach with caution. “It’s only my sister and cousins returning from school. I promise they won’t hurt you. You’re safe here, Peeta.”

 

Removing my boots, I place them by the door, silently walking towards the head of the table where Peeta can’t see me. Prim glances at me, jerking her head towards the chair opposite hers. I sit down, my hands itching to touch him, to know if he remembers me.

 

“My name is Peeta,” he says to Prim, his voice hoarse and hollow. “My name is Peeta Mellark. I'm seventeen years old. I was born on November 25th. I’m from District 12.”

 

Prim nods, smiling. “That’s right. We live in District 12. You remembered!”

 

“No,” Peeta replies, sounding dejected. “I’m only repeating what you’ve told me. I still can’t remember anything.”

 

“But you will,” Prim says. “You’ll see.” She glances at me. “And now, Peeta, here’s my sister. Her name is Katniss, and she’s really excited to see you.”

 

My heart starts to thud against my ribcage as Peeta turns his head. His blue eyes have lost the clouded look they held during his high fever, but they are just as confused as ever as his gaze travels from the top of my head down to my chest, almost as if he’s scanning me.

 

“You’re Prim’s sister?” he asks in surprise. “You look so different.”

 

“Yes,” I croak through my dry throat. “I’m Katniss. I, um, look more like my father, and my cousins. Prim has our mother’s coloring.”

 

His head tilts on the small pillow he’s lying on, his eyebrows knitting together. “You’re not very big, are you? How old are you?”

 

A searing pain stabs my chest. “No,” I say, shaking my head. I try and force myself to smile, but it probably comes out as more of a grimace. “I’m seventeen years old, like you. We were… in the same class in school.”

 

On Peeta’s other side I can see Prim nodding, trying to tell me I’m doing okay.  _ Keep talking, _ her expression says.  _ Keep talking and help him remember. _

 

But I’m not good at talking. Peeta used to do most of the talking when we were together. I could listen to him for hours, and often did when we would escape to the woods on Saturday afternoons. I’d hunt while he sketched, and then we’d stretch out on a blanket with my head in his lap and he would tell me stories as he fiddled with my hair, often tying it into knots. Stories about his brothers, especially his middle brother, Rye, who while practically Peeta’s twin in looks was his exact opposite in personality. Stories about the wrestling team, and about experiments he and his dad would do in the bakery when they had some spare ingredients. He’d bring along some cheese buns and I’d pick some wild blackberries, and we would eat and drink tea and just enjoy being together.

 

And now, is it even worth it? It’s clear he doesn’t remember me at all. Whether it’s from the tracker jacker stings or wherever he’s been all this time, his memory of me has been erased completely. The unfairness of it makes me want to scream. For someone to make Peeta forget that he loves me… it shouldn’t be possible.

 

“Prim says that you’re my friend,” Peeta says, startling me with the ice-cold tone of his voice. “Are you?”

 

Another stab of pain pierces my chest, stealing all the breath from my lungs as my hands clench into fists under the table. I want so badly to scream at him, to demand of him how he could possibly forget me. To demand how he could possibly think I was anything other than a shell of a person without him. 

 

I want to remind him of it, of us. Remind him how I taught him how to swim and fish at the lake my father used to bring me. Remind him how he tried, unsuccessfully, to teach me how to draw during one of our trips to the woods. Remind him that we were each other’s first kiss, and how we promised to be each other’s only. 

 

I want to tell him exactly how badly he’s breaking my heart with his inability to remember, when he knew how hard it was for me to give him my heart in the first place.

 

_ But that’s not what he would do, _ a little voice says inside my head.  _ And you know it. _

 

I do know it. I know without a doubt that if our roles were reversed, he’d be doing everything he possibly could to try and help me remember. He would be my friend, swallowing his own heartbreak and concentrating only on helping me recover. And he wouldn’t rest until I was better.

 

And so, I take a deep breath, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Yes,” I whisper. “I am your friend.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! I always look forward to seeing what my readers think! :)


	3. Chapter 3

_ “Any word on the status of Eighteen?” Crane asks as he enters the Control Room, still buttoning the final button on his elaborate crimson uniform coat. He’s in extra early today, hoping to get to the bottom of things before Minister Antonius makes his morning rounds. _

 

_ “No, sir,” the trainer replies, pressing various keys on his keyboard as he monitors the screen in front of him. “Eighteen’s tracker is still inoperative.” _

 

_ Crane grimaces, his thumb and forefinger trailing along his exquisitely trimmed beard. He tried to warn the Minister that Eighteen wasn’t ready. He tried to tell him that Eighteen needed more training, that he was resisting the programming like none they’d ever seen before. He tried to tell him, but his protests fell on deaf ears, as they often did. _

 

_ And now, due to the Minister’s hasty decision to deploy Eighteen, Crane has been left with no choice. The soldier has been out of contact for well beyond the required time. He’ll have to send in the recovery asset. _

 

_ “Is the retrieval asset on standby?” Crane asks his subordinate. _

 

_ The trainer presses another button, squinting at his screen. Recovery assets are typically culled from soldiers who completed their missions with exceptional ease or haste. Since the inception of this program there have been almost one hundred successfully completed missions, tracing back almost ten years, and only three failures.  _

 

_ But none of those failures had been of this magnitude. In the past, mission breaks could be blamed on forces beyond human control, such as foul weather or equipment malfunction. Those soldiers had been recalled without incident and, following appropriate debriefing and retraining, were sent out again to complete their missions. _

 

_ As much as he hated to admit it, Crane had no idea of the whereabouts of Soldier Eighteen, or even if he was still alive. And that made him quite uncomfortable. _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” the trainer replies. “Brutus was briefed overnight and is anxious to depart.” _

 

_ “Very well,” Crane acknowledges, swallowing hard. “Make sure the asset is aware that I want Eighteen found as soon as possible.” _

 

_ The trainer nods, tapping a command into his keypad. “Yes, sir.” _

 

* * *

 

I grumble as I roll over, uncomfortable on the lumpy floor pallet. What I wouldn’t give to have a real bed again, even if it came with the old, rough canvas mattress that Prim and I used to share. But the two beds in the house are allocated to Hazelle and my mother. Hazelle has enough trouble sleeping due to her worsening arthritis, so sleeping on the floor is not an option for her. And my mother… well. There’s still some days where she can’t, or won’t, get out of bed, and having her on a floor pallet would only mean she’d be in everyone else’s way.

 

Frustrated with the hard lump between my shoulder blades, I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I look over at Peeta’s sleeping form. He’s still convalescing on the table, and although we’ve padded it with some blankets and a pillow, the unyielding surface can’t be all that comfortable for him.

 

And yet, in the several days that he’s been here, I haven’t heard him utter a single word of complaint. Not when Mom has to do her daily dressing changes for his leg wounds. Not when there’s nothing in the house to eat except goat’s milk and tesserae bread. Not even when Gale and Rory have to carry him out so he could use the toilet.

 

The anti-infective Madge procured for us managed to kill most of the infection in Peeta’s leg, but it is still healing quite slowly, leading Gale to believe that the animal that clawed Peeta was some sort of Capitol mutt.

 

The woods surrounding District 12 is filled with animals of all shapes and sizes, many of which Gale, Rory, and I hunt for food. Rabbits, squirrels, wild turkeys, geese, and the occasional deer are all brought home from our hunting trips. But the woods is also home to many genetically engineered animals, originally developed and grown in the Capitol for use during the Dark Days. When that rebellion was squashed seventy-five years ago, many of these animals, called mutts by the district folks, were released into the open areas beyond the district borders as extra incentive for the people to remain safely inside their respective fences. Stories of the ferocity of these animals are even used as scare tactics on young children. Stay within the fence where it’s safe, or the mutt monkeys or cats or tracker jackers will get you.

 

Remain safely within the borders of your district. Where you can get worked to death, starved to death, or forcibly taken to a Peacekeeper’s house for the night, but at least you’ll be safe from the mutts. 

 

I get to my feet, walking silently over to the table where Peeta is sleeping. In sleep I’ve always thought he looked like a little boy, fresh-faced and innocent, with his full lips in a slight smile. But now, with his too-short hair and fading scratches and bruises, he looks almost like a lost soldier, returning home after a terrible war.

 

“What did they do to you?” I murmur as I lay my hand gently on his shoulder. “I wish you could tell us who had you for so long.”

 

We’ve tried to help him remember. Gale has probably asked a million questions by himself, trying to get to the bottom of why Peeta happened to be in the woods that night. I can tell he’s suspicious of Peeta, even if he hasn’t admitted it. Gale doesn’t like things he doesn’t understand or can’t explain, and right now Peeta is both of those.

 

“We can’t plan on keeping him here too much longer,” Gale said only last night, scowling in Peeta’s direction. “It’s getting too dangerous, and-“

 

“We are absolutely not sending him away!” I snapped, glaring at my tall cousin. “You have no idea what he’s been through!”

 

“And that’s exactly what worries me!” Gale shouted, making no effort to keep Peeta from overhearing our conversation. “We don’t know where he’s been, or why he was in the woods that night. Or what he’s capable of!”

 

I pursed my lips, trying to keep my temper in check. “Peeta is one of the nicest, most gentle people I’ve ever seen,” I said through clenched teeth. “There is no way he would hurt anyone. No possible way.”

 

We went around and around for another few minutes before Gale finally threw up his hands. “Fine. But the moment he’s able to walk again, I’m finding him another place to stay. It’s too crowded in here already.” And then he stomped away, leaving me fuming.

 

“Don’t worry,” I whisper to Peeta. “I won’t allow Gale to send you away. Not without me.”

 

I stand by the table, just watching him sleep for several minutes when suddenly his shoulder jerks beneath my hand, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching so hard I fear he’ll break his teeth. He’s having another nightmare.

 

Grabbing the kitchen chair, I sit down next to his head, lightly shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, Peeta,” I whisper. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

 

But he only thrashes harder, knocking one of his blankets onto the cold floor as he starts to whimper, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his upper lip. “No… please… not again…”

 

“Peeta!” I say into his ear as I grasp his hand, cradling it between my own. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

 

His eyes snap open, wild and unfocused as they flit around the room, finally landing on my face next to him. “What’s happening?” he croaks. “Why are you sitting here?”

 

His hand is clenching my fingers to the point of pain, but I refuse to let go. “You were having a nightmare,” I say. “I wanted to help you.” I rub his tight fingers with my other hand, working them loose. “It’s okay, Peeta. You’re safe now.”

 

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” He turns to look up at the ceiling, making no effort to release my hand. “I’ll never be safe again. They’ll find me.”

 

My breath hitches. Could he possibly remember something? “Who are they, Peeta? Who told you that they’d find you?”

 

His face crumples as his eyes cloud over. “I’ve told you!” he cries. He shoves my hand away, rolling slightly so he’s facing the wall, away from me. “I can’t remember!”

 

I slump back onto the chair, fighting back tears of frustration. I should’ve known better than to question him right after he woke up from a nightmare. But he doesn’t have to be so difficult when it’s obvious that we’re trying to help him. That I’m trying to help him.

 

Oh well. I’ve never really been good at this friend thing.

 

Reaching for the fallen blanket, I drape it over him, tucking it over his shoulder. “Try and get some more rest.”

 

I’m halfway back to my pallet when I hear him call my name. “Katniss!”

 

“Yeah?” I turn to look at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim light.

 

He takes a deep breath, holding out his hand. “Will you-, will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?” He looks down at the floor. “I think it would help.”

 

The vulnerability in his voice brings on a fresh set of tears. “Yeah,” I reply. Settling into the chair, I take his hand, intertwining our fingers. “I understand, Peeta. I get nightmares too.”

 

* * *

 

A strong hand on my shoulder startles me awake at dawn as various footsteps patter throughout the house. I’d fallen asleep at the table, still holding Peeta’s hand. 

 

“What are you doing?” Gale asks in a loud whisper, scowling as his dark grey eyes narrow into slits. “I thought you were going to go hunting this morning. And I told you to keep a safe distance from him.”

 

Wincing at the sharp crick in my neck, I look up at my angry cousin. “He had a nightmare, Gale. I wasn’t going to just watch him suffer through it. And how many times do I have to tell you? He’s not dangerous. Peeta wouldn’t hurt me, or anyone else for that matter.”

 

Gale huffs in impatience, shaking his head. “That might’ve been true before, Catnip. But I’m not convinced he’s the same person who disappeared. And we still have no idea where he was all that time.”

 

“Well, you can just take your unfair suspicions and go away,” I snap, turning back to Peeta, who’s beginning to stir. “Because no one knows him better than me, and I know he’d never hurt me.”

 

Shaking his head, Gale walks around the table, not taking his eyes off of Peeta. Gale has never been particularly trusting, especially of people from the Merchant class, Madge, of course, notwithstanding. While he and Peeta were cordial to each other before, Gale never tried to hide his intense dislike for Peeta’s older brother, or missed an opportunity to remind me that while Merchant boys would sometimes court a girl from the Seam, they very rarely end up toasting together.

 

“I don’t understand why you’re so afraid of him,” I say, watching as Gale leans in closer, focusing on Peeta’s head near his ear. “He was always the perfect gentleman with me, and you know it.”

 

“Mmmhmm,” Gale mutters, still staring at Peeta’s ear. “Like his brother was with Leevy? Before he dumped her for the grocer’s younger daughter?”

 

“Oh, like you didn’t do the same to Leevy when Madge finally softened towards you,” I retort. “Your reputation at the slag heap was no better than Rye Mellark’s, you just never wanted to admit it.” My eyes narrow. “What are you looking-?”

 

“C’mere and look at this,” Gale interrupts. “Has Peeta always had this?”

 

“Had what?” I ask, confused. Although now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Peeta’s left side at all since he’s been here, not wanting to get too close to his leg wound. Disentangling my hand from Peeta’s, I walk around, squinting at where Gale is pointing. “You mean his freckles? Peeta’s about as fair as they come, Gale. He tends to get freckles. Especially in the warmer months-“

 

“These aren’t ordinary freckles,” Gale interrupts, pointing at a dot near Peeta’s left earlobe. He nudges me with his elbow. “Look here, see? There’s three of them, all in a row. I would bet one of your father’s bows that those aren’t natural.”

 

My heart starts to thud against my ribcage as I take a closer look. Gale is correct. Starting at Peeta’s earlobe, a set of three perfect dots extend in a line, each no larger than the tip of a pencil. They're so small, and blend in so well with Peeta’s pale skin tone, it would be easy to mistake them at first glance for normal variations in skin pigmentation.

 

My head snaps up as I turn to Gale. “You knew those were there somehow. You knew where to look for them.” I lower my voice as Peeta stirs again, his hands twitching at his sides. “How did you know where to look?”

 

Gale shoots me a scowl but doesn’t back away. “It was only a hunch, Katniss, and it looks like I was right. And I’ll bet whoever had him all those months marked him like this.” He straightens up, backing away slightly. “I’ll ask a few questions down in the mines today. See if we can’t figure it out.”

 

I nod as Prim bursts through the back door, carrying her pail of goat's milk. Vick and Posy are busy heating water for their mother’s laundry washtub, and Rory hasn’t yet returned from wherever he was dragged by the Peacekeeper who pounded on the front door last night, just before midnight.

 

Satisfied for the moment, Gale turns to leave. But as he takes a step towards the end of the table, his right hand accidentally grazes across Peeta’s bad leg.

 

What happens next passes in a blur. Peeta wakes with a shout, shooting up on the table and grabbing Gale’s forearm in a vice-like grip. Before Gale can react, Peeta twists his arm behind him with such force that Gale buckles to his knees, crying out in pain as a sickening popping noise echos through the house.

 

“Peeta!” I yelp. “Let him go!” Without thinking I reach for Peeta’s face, cupping it between my hands. “Gale didn’t mean to hurt you!”

 

“Get him off of me, dammit!” Gale bellows as Vick and my mother rush over to the table. Vick tries to grab Peeta around his chest but Peeta twists, hitting Vick in the side of his head with his free hand and sending him flying onto the floor.

 

“Peeta! Look at me!” I say to him, trying to turn his head. I gasp when his eyes finally meet mine, his blown pupils obscuring most of the blue. I’ve never seen him so frightened. “It’s okay, Peeta. Gale’s your friend. He’s not going to hurt you.”

 

“Get him the hell off of me!” Gale yells again. “The bastard’s broken my arm!”

 

I press my forehead against Peeta’s, rubbing my thumbs across his cheekbones, his upper body trembling so violently I’m amazed he’s still upright. “Peeta. Please release Gale’s arm. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s your friend.”

 

“Like hell I am,” Gale mutters, earning a fierce scowl from me, but thankfully Peeta doesn’t seem to hear him.

 

“It’s okay, Peeta. I promise, Gale’s not going to hurt you.” I glance around the room. Prim is helping Vick up to his feet and my mother and Hazelle are standing at the foot of the table, their eyes as wide as saucers. “No one here is going to hurt you.”

 

Peeta’s free hand claps over my own, pressing it hard against his cheek. “Stay with me!” he chokes out between rapid breaths. “Please!”

 

“I will,” I reply. “I’m not going anywhere. Just please, let go of Gale.”

 

His hand presses harder against mine, his pupils contracting as his breaths start to even out. “Stay with me.”

 

“I promise I’ll stay with you,” I whisper. “Always. Please, let go of Gale now. Please.”

 

Peeta nods slowly, releasing his hand from Gale’s arm and slumping towards me. I gather him into my arms as Gale cries out in pain, cradling his injured arm in his left hand as my mother rushes over to examine him.

 

“His elbow is dislocated,” Mom says a minute later. “It will only take a moment to fix.”

 

Vick hoists his brother up while Prim slides a chair underneath him. Gingerly grasping Gale’s injured arm, Mom holds it with his palm facing away, then rotates it while pushing in, the telltale clicking noise and Gale’s sharp intake of breath indicating the joint has popped back into place.

 

“There will be some swelling and pain,” Mom says as Gale tests his arm. “But there shouldn’t be any permanent damage.” She turns to look at me, still holding Peeta in my arms as he whimpers into my neck. “What happened?”

 

“He just attacked me-“ Gale starts.

 

“Gale hit Peeta’s bad leg-“ I say at the same time, glaring at my cousin still shielding his right arm. “Peeta was only reacting to the pain.”

 

“This was no normal reaction!” Gale snaps, standing up so fast he knocks over the chair. “I only barely grazed his leg and he almost broke my arm! What if it’d been Posy that he grabbed like that? Or Prim?” He advances towards Peeta and me, pointing his left index finger at Peeta. “Katniss, don’t you see? He’s dangerous!”

 

Peeta whimpers again, his hands scrabbling for purchase on my back. “I’m sorry, Katniss! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

 

“Posy and Prim are both smart enough to not go poking around someone’s head while they’re trying to sleep!” I say to Gale. “You have no idea what he’s been through.”

 

Gale shakes his head, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Right now I don’t care where he’s been. I want him out of here.”

 

My heart leaps into my throat, my arms tightening around Peeta. “He’s not healed enough to leave here, Gale! And you know it!”

 

Scowling, Gale turns to my mother. “How long until he’s well enough to leave?”

 

“Mom, no!” I cry. “Please don’t let Gale send him away!”

 

“He needs at least a few more days,” Mom says, looking at Gale. “A week would be best, but I don’t think his wounds will ever fully heal.”

 

“Fine,” Gale says. “Then he’ll be gone in one week.” He points to Mom and me. “And you and you are the only people who are gonna go near him until then.”

 

I glare at Gale, refusing to acknowledge his statement when Rory stumbles through the door, filthy and exhausted. Gale shoots me a final scowl before barking at his brother and sister to fetch water so Rory can clean up before school.

 

With everyone else now bustling about, Peeta lifts his head from my neck, shifting to lie back down. “I’m so sorry, Katniss,” he whispers, turning to face the wall. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t know why…”

 

“It’s okay,” I say as I adjust his blankets. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt Gale.”

 

But he pulls his hand away as I attempt to reach for it. “No. Don’t touch me. I don’t-, I don’t want to hurt you too.”

 

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “Peeta, I know you won’t hurt me-“

 

“You can’t know that,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. His shoulders curl forward, his chin tucking into his chest. “It would be safer if you just stayed away.”

 

I choke back a sob, internally screaming at Gale for causing this whole mess in the first place. I know with every fiber of my being that Peeta did not react out of anger when he grabbed Gale’s arm. His reaction reminded me of a cornered animal, not someone out to injure someone else. “I’ll, um, check on you this afternoon then.”

 

He doesn’t answer, and with the sun now fully up in the sky, I have no choice but to prepare for school.

 

At least our somber group manages to avoid Peacekeeper Cray on the walk to school. Whispers of who Cray dragged out of bed last night dominate the lunchtime conversations, with Madge warning me to be extra careful in the coming weeks, saying it’s only a matter of time before Cray gets to our part of the Seam.

 

Cray is again absent on the walk home, but one of his lieutenants, Peacekeeper Drake, who only arrived here from the Capitol a couple months ago, appears in front of us about halfway down the path.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Everdeen,” Drake sneers. “Commander Cray would like to know why you’ve been keeping the curtains closed at your house.”

 

He’s standing so close I can smell the white liquor on his breath. Suppressing a shudder, I look up, leaning back so he can see my eyes. “There was a rather severe illness sweeping through our house for several days,” I say. “We’re still trying to rid the house of the germs.”

 

“Hmm,” Drake says. “Is that so?” He looks at Posy. “Is that so, little girl?”

 

Posy gulps, but looks Drake straight in the eye as she replies. “Yes, sir.”

 

“I see,” says the bulky, sandy-haired Peacekeeper, who while taller than me stands several inches shorter than Rory. “Well, I think having the curtains open would work better than keeping them closed, don’t you think? Allow the germs to air out more efficiently?” He exhales hard right in my face, forcing me to close my eyes against the foul stench. 

 

A strong hand grasps my braid, yanking my head back. “You will look at me when I’m speaking to you, you Seam whore!”

 

“Please, sir,” Rory interjects, stepping closer to Drake. “Katniss is still not completely well.” He clears his throat, jerking his head in my direction. “I wouldn’t want you to catch anything from her.”

 

Drake pauses, giving my braid another sharp tug before releasing it. “Your concern for my welfare is admirable, young man,” he says to Rory. “You should teach some of that to your cousin here.” Then he turns back to me, his dark brown eyes the color of mud when it rains. “And you listen here. I expect a certain level of respect from my charges. Especially you rats from the Seam.” His gloved finger runs roughly down my throat. “So the next time we run into each other, I’ll expect a much better attitude from you.” He pinches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Are we clear, Miss Everdeen?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I say, trying to sound meek even as the taste of bile floods my mouth. I just want to get out of here and get back to Peeta.

 

Drake nods, releasing my chin and stepping back. “Very well. Now, be on with you.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Rory says as we start walking. “You’d better be careful with that one, Katniss,” he whispers to me as our house comes into view. “I’ve heard some particularly nasty things about him.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” I mutter back, biting my lip at the look Rory gives me. I know he’s only trying to help, but he looks too much like Gale right now for me to appreciate what he’s trying to do.

 

Walking into the house, the first thing I notice is the magnificent smell of baking bread. And not the dense loaves of tesserae bread that we make every few days. This smells more like real bakery bread, a scent I haven’t smelled since the bakery was destroyed all those months ago.

 

“Who’s baking?” I ask as I step into the kitchen.

 

“Peeta,” Mom says as she presses a warm slice of bread into my hand. I close my eyes as I take a bite, reveling in the luxurious taste and texture that I’ve missed almost as much as the baker himself.

 

“How?” I ask, glancing over at Peeta, who’s still lying on the table, facing the wall.

 

“He borrowed my mortar and pestle to grind the tesserae grain until he could use it,” Mom explains. “He spent almost the whole day making this one loaf of bread.”

 

“Do you think this means his memory is returning?” I ask excitedly. Baking is probably one of the first memories Peeta has.

 

Mom shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, Katniss. His father had Peeta baking with him almost as soon as he could walk. I imagine it’s just instinctive for him by now.”

 

“Well, then we need to keep him around!” Vick states as he shoves the rest of his piece into his mouth. “It’s been so long since we’ve had decent bread like this!”

 

Vick’s compliment barely registers as I cross the space to the table, laying my hand on Peeta’s shoulder. “Peeta?”

 

I hear him inhale, but he makes no move to look at me. “What?”

 

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For the bread. It’s been a long time since we’ve had anything that’s tasted this good.”

 

He nods his head, scratching at the rough whiskers on his chin. “You’re welcome.”

 

I shift on my feet, thinking as I finish my slice of bread. “I’d like to give you something in return,” I say. “If that’s okay.”

 

He scoffs, still facing the wall. “I don’t think you owe me anything, Katniss. Not after what I did this morning.”

 

“Still,” I insist. “I’d like to. I’ll be right back.”

 

I walk into the bedroom, searching through my mother’s dresser drawer for my father’s old razor and shaving mirror. Peeta always kept himself well-groomed, saying that facial hair made his skin itchy. He was clean shaven when he was brought here, but a few days after his fever broke his beard started to grow in. It must be making him miserable.

 

Filling a bowl with warm water from the stove, I pick up the bar of soap and a clean towel, sitting down on the edge of the table. “Can you sit up for me?”

 

He hesitates before rolling to face me, but doesn’t sit up. “I don’t want you this close to me,” he says. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

I shake my head, tugging gently on his shoulder. “I’m not afraid of you,” I say firmly, showing him the razor. “Now, please sit up for me.”

 

His eyes flick back and forth between the razor and my face before he finally sits up. “Thank you.”

 

I drape the towel around his neck, rubbing the soap between my palms. “It itches? Your face?”

 

“Yeah,” he replies with downcast eyes as I lather the soap onto his cheeks and jaw. “Quite a bit, actually. How’d you know?”

 

_ Because I know you. _ “I’ve noticed you scratching at it,” I say, shrugging. “I wish you would’ve said something.”

 

It takes almost thirty minutes to remove all the scraggly hair from Peeta’s face with the ancient razor, but being clean-shaven for the first time in several days seems to greatly lift his spirits. He’s even smiling when Gale arrives home, and Gale, greeted with a slice of fresh, homemade bread, actually thanks him.

 

But not even the delicious bread is enough to convince Gale to change his mind. 

 

“I’ve asked around in the mines,” he says after supper a few days later. “And I’ve found a place for Peeta. He’ll-”

 

I shake my head frantically. “Gale, wait! I’m not-”

 

“He’ll be fine, Katniss!” Gale interrupts. “One of the miners knows a guy who can get Peeta safely out of the district and into a camp-”

 

“Out of the district?” I shriek. “He can’t leave the district! He doesn’t even know who he is!”

 

“Katniss,” Peeta says timidly, staring down at his bowl. “It’s okay. I understand.”

 

My stomach drops like a rock. “But I don’t understand!” I cry, looking at Gale, begging him to see reason. The thought of Peeta leaving here, leaving  _ me _ , and going back out where he was attacked… I can’t fathom it. “Gale, he’ll be in danger out there alone, he’s only just started walking again, and-”

 

Gale slams his palm onto the table. “I’ve already made my decision. We can’t afford to keep him here, and it’s only a matter of time before Cray comes poking around.” He breathes in, looking at Peeta. “You leave in the morning.”

 

Despair floods my veins, nearly blinding me with its intensity. “Gale, he can’t leave here! He can’t survive out there on his own…” I bring my fist to my mouth, trying to stifle a sob. “He was almost dead when he got here. If you send him out there again, he won’t survive.”

 

The smallest flicker of sympathy flashes across Gale’s eyes, only for a second before it vanishes. “Catnip, I understand-”

 

A loud pounding on the front door startles him silent. With a glance, Gale indicates for Vick to check it out while I reach for Peeta’s hand, his eyes wide with fear as I pull him towards the cellar next to the back door.

 

“You need to hide for a few minutes,” I tell him as I open the heavy door covering the six feet by six feet space. “It’s going to be cold, smelly, and dark, but I’ll get you out as soon as I can. Okay?”

 

He nods, gulping as he takes hold of the ladder. “Okay.”

 

I’ve barely replaced the door when Peacekeeper Drake walks into the house, his polished leather boots clacking against the hard floor.

 

“Good evening,” he says, grimacing as he looks around the room. “I apologize if I interrupted your supper.” He rubs his gloved hands together, now looking directly at me. “But I’m here on urgent business. Commander Cray has sent me to retrieve payment for your tesserae.”

 

“Very well,” I say as politely as I can muster. “I’ll just go and get it. Please excuse me for a moment.”

 

“Eh, eh, eh,” Drake says as soon as I’ve turned my back. “Not this time, Miss Everdeen. Mr. Cray instructed me to inform you that he’s had enough of your wild turkeys for the time being.” My heart starts to pound as he steps closer, his thin lips stretched into a cruel smirk. “You’re to come with me for the evening.” He takes another step, invading my space and wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, leaning down to whisper into my ear. “I’ll, ah, be sure to return you before school tomorrow.”

 

“No!” I blurt without thinking. I can’t be taken away on the last night that Peeta is here. I look towards Gale and my mother, silently pleading with them to speak up, to somehow get me out of this, but knowing that there’s really nothing they can do. “I can’t tonight! Please, sir, if only you could wait until tomorrow, then-”

 

“You will come with me now!” Drake roars as he shoves me towards the door. “And if you open your mouth again, whore, I’ll see to it that you stay for a week!”

 

“No!” I scream as my elbow connects with Drake’s chest. He doubles over, loosening his grip on my neck as I twist, trying to get away from him. I manage to break free just as Drake regains his senses, slapping me so hard across the face that I’m knocked to the floor.

 

“No, please!” I plead as Drake grabs my forearm, hauling me up and dragging me towards the door. “Please, not tonight!”

 

Suddenly I’m shoved aside, landing hard on my right shoulder and slamming the side of my head on the leg of the table. My eyes squeeze closed against the flood of pain and nausea as my ears pick up the sound of a struggle. Gasping for air, I open my eyes just in time to see Peeta’s fist connecting with Drake’s midsection.

 

“Peeta,” I choke out, my vision blurred from the blow to my head. “Peeta, don’t!”

 

But Peeta doesn’t seem to hear me as he pulls back his fists, hitting Drake twice in the face. Drake stumbles, swearing as he tries to regain his footing.

 

“I’m gonna kill you!” Drake snarls as he swings at Peeta’s head. Peeta ducks out of the way easily, circling around the tiny room until he’s standing directly in front of me, still sprawled out on the floor.

 

“You will not hurt her again!” Peeta yells. Drake lunges for him with his hands, aiming for Peeta’s neck just as Peeta’s right palm connects with Drake’s nose, snapping his head back with a loud crack.

 

And we all watch in stunned silence as Drake drops like a rock to the floor, dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very much looking forward to hearing what you guys think of this chapter! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	4. Chapter 4

_ “Mr. Crane,” Minister Antonius says, his voice clipped with barely restrained anger. “My patience is not unlimited, as you are well aware.” _

 

_ “Yes, Minister,” Seneca Crane replies. “The recovery asset is canvassing the last known location of Eighteen as we speak. Judging from what he found, he believes that Eighteen fell injured and was captured. He appears to have been taken inside the district.” Crane pauses, allowing his words to sink in. _

 

_ Antonius blinks, expecting more. “Yes? And? Captured by whom?” _

 

_ “On that he did not comment, Minister,” Crane continues. “We are monitoring his progress with hourly reports. As soon as anything of note occurs, I will send a message to your office immediately.” _

 

_ “You will report to me directly!” Antonius snaps at the Head Trainer, his sharp temper dulled only by his faith in the recovery asset, who he trained as a soldier himself. “The fewer people who are aware of this debacle, the better.” He steps closer to Crane, tapping his ever-present baton. “For the sake of all those involved.” _

 

_ Crane nods somberly. “Yes, sir.” _

 

_ “I have no doubt in the abilities of Soldier Brutus,” Antonius adds. He smiles slightly, remembering the bald strongman who was one of the first volunteers into this program, back when Antonius himself was in charge of training. “He is truly exceptional, with numerous successful missions. I am certain he will have this situation well in hand as soon as possible.” _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Crane says. “I was most impressed with Soldier Brutus during his briefing. He seemed quite eager to return to the field.” _

 

_ “Yes,” the Minister agrees. “He thrives on the hunt, and often grows so restless during downtimes that we have to bring him political prisoners to keep him occupied.” _

 

_ Crane’s eyes widen. He’s been an employee of the Training Center long enough for most things to no longer be shocking, but every now and then the Minister still manages to say something so brutal, and in such a normal, conversational tone, that Crane’s blood runs cold. _

 

_ “I see,” Crane says. _

 

_ “You will report any further news to me without delay,” Antonius says firmly, turning and exiting out the door. _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Crane says to the Minister’s retreating back. “As you wish.” _

 

* * *

Of the nine of us in the house, Prim is the first person able to regain her senses, rushing over to me and cradling my head. “Katniss!” she says. “Don’t try to move yet.”

 

I push her away, crawling over to where Peeta has collapsed onto his knees, staring at his right hand that just dealt the killing blow to Peacekeeper Drake.

 

“Katniss, don’t go near him!” Gale barks, but I ignore him as well, tugging on Peeta’s hand until he blinks, breaking from his stupor.

 

“Oh my-, oh my God, Katniss,” Peeta stutters. He looks over at Drake’s crumpled body and shudders. “He was gonna hurt you!” His eyes squeeze closed as he inhales. “I stopped him.”

 

Using his elbows as leverage, I pull myself up to kneel next to him. “It’s okay, Peeta.” I run my fingertips along his jaw, something I always used to do before when he was upset. “It was an accident. But we need to go now.” I take a deep breath, swallowing back the tears threatening to spill over as I look up at Gale. “We need to leave here as soon as possible. You said you knew a way to get Peeta out of the district, right?”

 

It takes a few seconds, but Gale finally catches my meaning. “Oh no,” he says with wide eyes. “You’re not gonna-“

 

“Gale, I have to!” I try to get to my feet but change my mind when my head starts to spin. “You can tell Cray that I killed Drake. Tell him I pushed him while I was trying to get away and he hit his head on the table. Tell him I ran away afterwards because I was afraid I’d be punished. None of you will be in trouble. Cray will be so mortified that one of his lieutenants was killed by a girl, he’ll try to cover it up. You should all be safe.”

 

“Katniss, no!” Prim cries. She lurches forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and causing another wave of nausea to rush through me. “There has to be another way!”

 

“There is no other way!” I rub my temples, willing my head to stop pounding. “This is the only way to keep you safe.” I reach out to pull her into my lap, holding her as I did when she was a small child. “I’ll be okay, Prim. I’m strong, and smart. And Peeta will protect me.”

 

“Katniss, he doesn’t even know who he is,” Gale interjects, pointing at Peeta. “How are you gonna handle that while trying to stay alive out there?”

 

“We’ll just have to deal with it as best as we can,” I say. “Maybe his memories will come back to him over time.” I look over at Peeta, who’s now sitting with his knees pressed against his chest and his head in his hands, mumbling the mantra that Prim taught him.

 

“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m from District Twelve. I’m seventeen years old…”

 

Gale frowns but doesn’t respond as my mother hands me a solution of willow bark for my throbbing head. Her face is tightly drawn and I can see she’s fighting back tears, but she knows better than to argue with me. She knows the ramifications of injuring a Peacekeeper, and she knows that I’ll do almost anything to protect Prim. I swallow down the painkilling tonic as Hazelle orders her younger children to begin packing up food and clothing for us to take.

 

“Peeta had this pack with him when we found him,” Rory says, handing me a black backpack made of some kind of waterproof fabric. “Since we found him in the woods, I’ll bet there’s some survival supplies in there.”

 

“Thanks,” I say. Opening the pack, I’m pleased to see that Rory is correct. There’s two extra changes of clothing, including socks, a sleeping bag and thermal blanket, a flare to start fires, two water bottles, a bottle of iodine, a first-aid kit, a pair of very odd-looking sunglasses, and enough dried fruit and nuts to last for several days.

 

“Here, Katniss,” Posy says as she hands me my game bag filled with food and clothing. “I put your hairbrush in there too.” A tear rolls down her cheek as she hugs me, pressing her forehead into my shoulder. “Be careful, okay?”

 

I wrap my arms around the thin body of my smallest cousin, holding her close. “We will, sweet girl. You remember to stay as far away from Cray as you can, okay?”

 

“I will,” Posy replies, sniffing. “Vick and Prim will make sure of it.”

 

I turn next to my mother, hugging her close while whispering instructions. Prim is never, under any circumstances, to sign up for tesserae. Neither are Posy and Vick. It would kill me to have any of them under the thumb of the Peacekeepers like I was. They can get by, if they’re careful, on selling Prim’s goat milk and cheese and with what Rory and Gale bring in from hunting. Rory can get her the herbs she needs for her apothecary, as long as she describes them clearly for him. 

 

When I am done with instructions about food and trade, I pull back, looking directly into her blue eyes that are so similar to Prim’s. “You can’t check out again.” Her pale face goes even paler, but I continue on. “Not anymore. Prim will need you. Gale and Rory and Hazelle have enough to worry about without having to pick up your load too.”

 

Mom nods, looking chagrined. “I won’t, Katniss.”

 

“Promise me!” I say sharply. “You won’t have me bringing food in anymore. You’ll have to keep up your business to help keep the family afloat, and you can’t do that if you won’t get out of bed.”

 

“I said I won’t, Katniss!” Mom snaps, pulling me in for another hug. “You just be safe out there. Both of you.” 

 

She releases me and moves to hug Peeta. She’s always had a soft spot for him, even before I knew I loved him. Peeta’s eyes widen in surprise but he accepts the embrace. “You be safe too. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” he says. “I never meant to cause all this trouble.”

 

“I know you didn’t,” Mom whispers. “You’re always so kind, Peeta. My husband was very fond of you.” She pulls back, swiping at her eyes as she looks at Peeta and me. “You take care of each other.”

 

Prim tugs on Peeta’s sleeve, pressing something into his hand. It’s a goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves, something he used to love to spread on apple slices during the fall. I make a mental note to pick a few before we get too far out of the way. He stares at the cheese in his hand for a few seconds, then nods his head in thanks, carefully placing it into his pocket.

 

“We need to go now, Peeta,” I say. “Before more Peacekeepers show up.”

 

He looks at me, his blue eyes shimmering with tears and shame. “Katniss… this is all my fault. I-”

 

“Shh,” I say, covering his lips with my fingers. “It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.” I hand him his pack. “But we need to go now.”

 

He takes the backpack with a trembling hand. “Okay,” he whispers.

 

Hazelle hands Peeta an old flannel shirt of her husband’s, insisting that he take it. Being broader across the shoulders than Mr. Hawthorne, the shirt barely fits, and at first Peeta tries to refuse. But Hazelle insists, saying the weather is growing too cool at night to not have enough warm clothing.

 

I shrug into my father’s old hunting jacket, remembering at the last second to grab the sketchbook. I turn to Prim for a final hug, kissing her on the forehead. 

 

“Here, Katniss,” she says, pulling the light blue ribbon from her hair and handing it to me. “To remember me.”

 

“I’ll never forget you,” I whisper into her neck. “Goodbye, Little Duck.”

 

Then I slide my hand through Peeta’s arm as Gale leads us out the back door, heading through the diminishing light of dusk for the fence.

 

“Catnip, listen,” Gale says as we arrive at the fence. As usual, there’s no hum to indicate that the fence is electrified. He tugs on my elbow, pulling me aside and shoving a folded piece of paper into my hand. I open it to find a hand-drawn map of what appears to be all twelve districts in Panem. “Thom told me about a camp, somewhere out in the no-man’s land between the borders of Eleven and Twelve. I asked Madge about it, and she snuck into her father’s safe and copied this map for me. You guys need to head southwest and find it. You should be able stay there through the fall and winter. Thom says it’s made up of escapees from different districts.”

 

“Okay,” I reply, shifting on my feet. Now that we’ve left the house I’m eager to get going. “Thank you.”

 

“Listen!” Gale rasps. He glances briefly at Peeta. “Thom also told me a theory about those marks on Peeta’s neck.” He takes a deep breath and looks down, as if deciding how much to tell me. “Thom thinks they’re the marks of some secret government organization. That’s why the bakery was destroyed. To cover up when they captured Peeta.”

 

My eyes widen in surprise. “Secret organization? What for? And why him? I can probably think of a hundred people more likely to cause trouble than Peeta.”

 

“There’s a bunch of theories, but no one knows exactly,” Gale says. “But Thom suspects that this organization takes people against their will and brainwashes them. Turns them into human weapons.”

 

I gasp, loud enough to cause Peeta to whip around with his fist clenched and raised, ready to strike. “It’s okay, Peeta,” I tell him. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

 

“See?” Gale says. “See how jumpy he is? That’s what they did to him. And it’s why you need to be extremely careful around him, Catnip.” He rubs absentmindedly at his right elbow. “We’ve already seen what he’s capable of. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

I close my eyes, trying to make sense of what Gale’s telling me. “But he doesn’t remember anything about it,” I remind him. “Don’t you think he would remember something if this were true?”

 

Shrugging, Gale shakes his head. “He was stung five times by the tracker jackers before we found him that night, Katniss. It’s a wonder he survived that. Not to mention the mutt that clawed his leg.”

 

“So then it’s fine-“ I start.

 

“But that doesn’t mean his memories won’t come back eventually,” Gale continues. “And that’s when he could be the most dangerous.”

 

A marble-sized lump forms in my throat. “No,” I whisper. “If his memories come back, he’ll remember how he used to be. He’ll remember me. He’ll remember us.” I shake my head. I can’t let myself worry about that now. “We’ll be fine either way, Gale. You just take care of my family.”

 

“You know I will,” he says as he gathers me into his arms. I soak up the embrace, knowing this will likely be the last time I ever see him. For how often we tend to get on each other’s nerves, besides Peeta, Gale is the one person who really understands me the best. I know I can trust him implicitly to look after Mom and Prim.

 

“You be careful out there, Catnip,” he whispers into my hair. “Be sure to watch your back.”

 

It’s what he always says when we hunt together. “Peeta will have my back,” I say. “You just take care of them. Don’t let them go hungry.”

 

“You know I won’t,” he replies. 

 

“Say goodbye to Madge for me, will you?” I mumble into his chest.

 

“I will.” He leans back to look at me, glancing quickly at Peeta. “Just, be careful. With him. I’m still not convinced-”

 

“We’ll be fine,” I say firmly, giving him one final squeeze. “Don’t worry about that.”

 

With a deep sigh he releases me, tugging gently on my braid. “Goodbye, Catnip.”

 

Peeta and I watch until Gale disappears, taking the path back to the Seam. I don’t envy his task of trying to convince Cray that I killed Drake. But knowing Gale, he’ll be able to think of something. He’s pretty adept at spinning stories to his advantage.

 

Sliding under the fence, I study the stars for a moment to get my bearings, then take Peeta’s hand, leading him into the woods. We won’t be able to go too far in during the night because of the dangerous predators lurking about, but I want to make sure we’re at least far enough from the fence to not be found before morning if Cray decides to send out a search party.

 

“We need to pick up my bow and arrows,” I say to Peeta after a few minutes. “Then we’ll find a place to camp for the night. It’s dangerous to travel too deep at night.”

 

“Okay,” he replies in a shaky voice. “Katniss, I’m-“

 

“No,” I interrupt. “No more apologies.” I turn to look at him. “You did nothing wrong, Peeta.” A violent shiver runs down my spine at the thought of what would’ve happened if Peeta hadn’t been there tonight. “You were right. That Peacekeeper was going to hurt me, just like he’s hurt a lot of other girls before me. But you defended me and protected me. You did the right thing.”

 

His jaw twitches. “I couldn’t let him hurt you, Katniss. You’re my friend.” He looks down at our clasped hands. “The only friend I’ve got.”

 

A spike of pain stabs my heart at the word ‘friend’, but I force myself to ignore it. “The bow and arrows are this way.”

 

Pausing to pick a few apples, we make our way to the hollow log where I hide my weapons.

 

“Here you go,” I say as I hand Peeta a sheath of arrows. I drape a second sheath across my shoulder and pick up the bow, handcrafted by my father a few months before he vanished without a trace. There are four bows that I keep well hidden in the woods, wrapped in waterproof covers. I decide to leave two for Gale and Rory and take the rest. Gale knows how to make a bow, as do I, but neither of us are as talented as my father was. 

 

“I don’t know how to shoot with this,” Peeta says when I hand him the second bow, made of slightly darker wood than my own.

 

“It’s okay,” I say. “I can teach you.” 

 

“You sure?” he asks. “I’ll bet it’s not as easy as it looks.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I have to steel myself against another flood of emotion because yes, he does know how to shoot. Or rather, he did before he disappeared, because I taught him. I’ll never forget the day he shot his first squirrel. He was so proud of himself.

 

I drape the bow over my shoulder and reach for his hand. “I know a good place where we can stop for the night.”

 

It’s quiet as we walk, and it takes several minutes before I realize that it’s too quiet. Peeta, who used to have one of the loudest treads I’d ever heard, now moves effortlessly through the woods, almost as silently as Gale. It’s rather unnerving and I’m relieved when we come upon the spot where Gale, Rory, and I would meet to go hunting, a rock ledge overlooking a valley, surrounded by a thicket of berry bushes. Being October there’s no berries left, but the bushes still provide adequate cover.

 

“We can stop here for the night,” I say, setting down my game bag. I sit down on the rocks, looking down into the valley. Was it just a couple of days ago that I was here last? It seems like an eternity.

 

“Are you sure we’re safe on the ground like this?” Peeta asks as he sits down next to me. “We might be better off up in a tree.” He looks up at a nearby willow. “Do you know how to climb trees?”

 

With everything else that’s happened tonight, his question hits me like a slap in the face. “Yes,” I snap. “I do know how to climb trees.” I turn away, not wanting to look at him, this person who looks and sounds like my Peeta but isn’t my Peeta. “But right now I don’t want to.”

 

I can feel his eyes widen as they stare at the back of my head. “Okay,” he says quietly. “It was only a suggestion.”

 

His contrite tone makes me feel even worse. “It was a good suggestion,” I say, turning back to face him. “But we’ll be fine here. I’ve spent the night out here before, and it’s pretty safe.” 

 

Peeta nods, looking down into the valley below. I can practically hear the wheels spinning in his head. “You’ve spent the night out here?”

 

I tighten the collar of my father’s jacket around my neck, huddling down against the chill in the air. “Yes. Sometimes the fence would be turned on when we’d be trying to get home from hunting. So we’d have to stay out here until it turned off again.”

 

“Oh.” There’s a pause as he kicks at a loose rock with the toe of his boot. “You and Gale?”

 

I’m nearly overcome with a sense of deja vu at his question. He asked me the very same thing about a year ago, when our friendship was beginning to delve into something more.

 

So I tell him what I told him then. “Gale’s my cousin. His mom’s mom was my dad’s mom’s sister.”

 

There’s another pause while Peeta deciphers that tidbit of information. “Ah, I get it.” He clears his throat. “You two favor each other.”

 

“Yeah,” I agree. “People say he looks like my brother. Rory too. But then again, all us Seam folk favor each other in some way or another.”

 

“Your mom doesn’t, though,” he says. “Or your sister.”

 

My heart lurches at the mention of Prim. “No. Prim takes after my mother. My mom was from Town. Her parents own the apothecary shop near the Square.”

 

“Oh,” Peeta says. He picks up a rock, tossing it into the darkness. “Your sister told me the apothecary isn’t far from where the bakery used to be.”

 

I pick up my own rock, throwing it down into the valley. “Yes, that’s right,” I say quietly.

 

“Are you close with your grandparents?” he asks.

 

A wry smirk crosses my face. “No. My grandparents don’t speak to us. Ever since my parents were married. I’ve never actually met them.” I toss a second rock, listening as it bounces off the bark of a nearby tree. “They didn’t take kindly to my mother marrying a coal miner.”

 

We lapse into another uncomfortable silence. I wrack my brain, trying to decide if I should tell him a story he once told me. The one where his father and my mother were engaged to be married until she left him to marry my father, a poor coal miner’s son from the Seam. Peeta said his father told him that story on our first day of school, saying that my mom fell in love with my dad when she first heard him sing. And then, later that day, Peeta heard me sing for the first time.

 

“I knew then that I was a goner,” he told me. It was one of our lazy Saturday afternoons in the woods, a bright, sunny spring day with the trees blooming and butterflies fluttering about. I was lying with my head in his lap and he was running his fingers through my hair, and he told me that he’d been in love with me since we were five years old. Since that day he first heard me sing.

 

But maybe now isn’t the best time to mention his family, who are likely all dead. “We should get some rest,” I say instead. “Your leg’s probably sore. Why don’t you try and sleep while I keep watch.”

 

He hesitates for a few seconds before rummaging around in his pack. “Here,” he says, handing me the thermal blanket. “Use this. I’ll use the sleeping bag, and we can switch when I take watch.”

 

The temperature is dropping rapidly so I accept the warm blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders. Peeta crawls into the sleeping bag and drifts off, the wound on his leg obviously affecting his stamina. For half of the night I watch as the breeze blows through his short hair, wishing I could run my fingers through it.

 

The next thing I know I’m being jostled awake by Peeta, holding some dried pear halves in his hand. “Here,” he says. “Eat some breakfast.”

 

I blink in the light of dawn, realizing that I’m tucked into the sleeping bag and using his flannel shirt as a pillow. “Did you put me in here?” I ask as I pop a pear into my mouth. I think it’s only the second or third time in my life that I’ve eaten a pear.

 

Satisfied that I’m eating as instructed, he stands to shake out the blanket. “Yeah. You were pretty tired. You were dozing when I woke up to take watch.”

 

I shove another pear into my mouth as I nod, sliding out of the sleeping bag and rolling it up. “Do you need me to take a look at your leg?”

 

Peeta takes a sip of water, offering me the bottle and shaking his head. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I looked at it this morning, and it’s not bleeding through the bandage yet. It should be okay for another day.”

 

“I’ll check it tonight when we stop,” I say, gulping down some more water. “We should get going now.”

 

After refilling the water bottles in a nearby stream we set out at a steady pace, heading southwest as Gale instructed, stopping every few hours to rest and eat. I shoot one rabbit before we stop for the night, and we have it for supper along with one of the apples I gathered before we left District 12.

 

“See, you spread the goat cheese out over the apple, like this,” I say as I show Peeta one of my very favorite snacks. “It tastes really good spread out on bread too.”

 

He looks skeptical at first, but when his eyes close in pleasure at the first bite I can’t help but smile. At least there are still some parts of him that are unchanged from before.

 

“This is delicious,” he says as he stuffs the last piece into his mouth. “Your sister makes this?”

 

“Mmmhmm,” I reply, my mouth full of cheese and apple. “She keeps a goat, the most stubborn thing I’ve ever seen, except for Gale.” I smile as Peeta chuckles. “She calls her Lady, and she loves the beast to no end. Even ties ribbons around her neck.”

 

Peeta laughs. “And does the goat appreciate her ribbons?”

 

“Hardly,” I reply, smirking. I roll my eyes, remembering how Prim insisted on spending an extra three coins on another ribbon after Lady chewed up the first two Prim bought her. “But the goat’s more than paid for herself already. Prim milks her every morning. We keep some of the milk to drink, and Prim uses the rest to make her cheese to sell.” I don’t add that Peeta’s father used to be one of Prim’s best customers for her goat cheese. I’ll save that information for another time.

 

The days pass in a similar fashion. The goat cheese only makes it through the third day, but we encounter some more apple trees as we trek through the woods, making our way in what we hope is the direction of the camp. Already the weather has started to cool noticeably, and as I prepare to take watch for the first half of the night, not even my father’s jacket and Peeta’s thermal blanket is enough to keep the chill away.

 

“You’re shivering,” Peeta says a few minutes after he’s slipped into the sleeping bag.

 

“It’s c-cold,” I stutter through the chattering of my teeth. “Winter will be here soon.”

 

“Why don’t you sleep first tonight,” he says. He slides out of the sleeping bag, holding his hand out towards me, presumably for the blanket. “I can take first watch.”

 

His suggestion is a good one. He doesn’t seem to get as cold as easily as I do, and we haven’t run into anything at night yet that has even necessitated having someone to keep watch. But still… it’s not what I really want.

 

“No,” I say, surprising both him and myself with my refusal. “Why don’t we both try and sleep for the night tonight.” I climb into the sleeping bag, holding it open for him to join me.

 

I almost hear my heart cracking in two as he shakes his head. “No, Katniss.” He looks away, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“Please!” I say, disgusted with how needy I sound. But he’s sitting right there, and even though he’s not my Peeta he’s still Peeta, and his arms are still his arms, and I’m cold and so desperately lonely right now I can’t stand it. “Please! I’m not afraid of you, Peeta. I’m just cold.”

 

He stares at me for a few more seconds before acquiescing, slipping into the sleeping bag behind me. I slide closer to him, draping his arm over my waist so my back is pressed right up against his chest, closing my eyes as I feel my body relaxing for the first time since I thought he was dead. All those months where I thought I’d never feel his arms around me again… if this is all I’m able to get now, I’ll take it.

 

I’ve nearly drifted off when Peeta’s voice startles me. “Katniss?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Have we-?“ He pauses, clearing his throat. “Have we done this before?” His arm twitches where it rests over my waist, his fingers splaying across my abdomen. His breath is warm against my neck. “It feels really familiar.”

 

“Yes,” I say with a touch of melancholy. “We have.”

 

“I thought so,” he whispers. “It feels… nice.”

 

I breathe in, searching for the scent of cinnamon on his skin. It’s still not there, but I can smell the scents of the woods on him, which for now will have to do. “It is nice. Goodnight, Peeta.”

 

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

* * *

I awaken the next morning to the feel of Peeta’s fingers brushing the hair out of my eyes. It’s grown windier during our travels, and the shorter strands of my hair often work their way out of my braid by the end of the day. The gesture feels so natural, so soothing, that at first I don’t want to move.

 

Then I notice how high the sun is. “Peeta!” I exclaim, sitting up so abruptly that I bop him in the chin with my shoulder. “It’s so late! We need to get going!”

 

I can’t be sure, but I think he sighs before nodding. “Yeah, you’re right.” He starts to roll up the sleeping bag, stuffing it back into his pack. “I was just so comfortable, I didn’t want to move.”

 

After a quick breakfast of some leftover rabbit and another apple, we head out. Around midday I start to notice clumps of trees that have been cut down and cleared. Several minutes later we come across a wire snare, not unlike the ones that Gale likes to set to catch rabbits. We seem to be getting close to the camp.

 

“Look,” I say to Peeta, pointing out the tree stumps and snares. ”We must be almost there.”

 

But before Peeta can respond our path is blocked by one of the largest men I’ve ever seen. Tall and broad, with hardly any neck and a bald head, he stands in front of us, his hands clenched into fists almost the size of my head.

 

“You!” the man snarls, pointing in our direction. “You are out of line, Soldier!”

 

My stomach immediately drops to my knees. _Oh my God._ _Cray must’ve sent him to find me!_

 

“You will not hurt her,” Peeta says to him, his voice as sharp as the crisp fall air. He immediately steps in front of me, shoving his pack and bow into my arms with such force that I’m almost knocked to the ground. “Katniss,” he says, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. “Get out of here. Right now.”

 

But I’m too stunned to move as the huge man lunges for Peeta, his hands aiming for Peeta’s neck. Peeta is able to block his hands to the side with his forearms but he’s knocked off balance, stumbling as the man sweeps Peeta’s ankles with his foot. Peeta drops to the ground, landing hard on his left side. I cringe as I see blood start to seep through the fabric of his pants from the wounds on his leg.

 

“Peeta!” I yell as the man raises his foot, presumably to kick Peeta in the stomach. But instead of landing the blow, Peeta catches his foot with one hand, twisting it as the man topples to the ground next to him.

 

“Help!” I scream as I notch and draw back an arrow, letting it fly. It lands squarely in the man’s upper arm, lodging into his left bicep but not slowing him down one bit. It’s as if he doesn’t even notice it’s there.

 

Peeta manages to regain his footing just as the attacker grabs his ankle, holding him in place as his fist lands directly on Peeta’s bleeding leg. His knee buckles as he cries out in pain, landing facedown back in the dirt. The bald man flips Peeta over with his foot and pins his wrists down with his knees, wrapping his large hands around Peeta’s neck. 

 

“Help!” I scream again as I reach for a second arrow, aiming this time for the attacker’s head. I can see Peeta’s lips turning blue. He’ll die of asphyxiation fast if I don’t do something to help him.

 

I release the arrow, watching in morbid fascination as it embeds itself into the man’s temple and his death grip on Peeta’s throat immediately loosens. A split second later, Peeta maneuvers his feet between himself and the attacker, launching him over his head towards a nearby tree.

 

The sound of that massive body hitting the tree is a sound I will never forget. His back hits the trunk, wrapping around it in such a way that I think I hear every single bone in his spine breaking before he falls to the ground, the two arrows still sticking out of his head and arm.

 

At first I’m too stunned to move, frozen to my spot on the ground and watching as the life twitches out of the man who just tried to kill Peeta. My mind is swirling, trying to decipher how this man knew where to look for us, why he called Peeta a soldier, and how exactly Peeta managed to fight him off as well as he did when he was almost twice his size.

 

“Peeta!” I scream, finally breaking from my stupor. I drop my weapons in the dirt, rushing over to where he lies gasping for breath between two trees. I brush the dirt from his forehead and run my fingers over his mouth, feeling his warm breath as his golden lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks weakly, his voice hoarse from being almost strangled to death.

 

“Am I okay?” I choke out, aghast at the absurd question as tears pour from my eyes, streaming down my cheeks. “Peeta, that man was trying to kill you! He almost killed you!”

 

“Yeah,” Peeta gasps, still trying to catch his breath. “But he didn’t. I’m all right.”

 

His words echo around and around in my head as I cup his face, careful to avoid jostling his neck. In my mind I keep seeing him lying on the floor of the forest, gasping for breath as the attacker slowly chokes the life out of him.

 

“I almost lost you again!” I blurt, leaning down and pressing my lips to his before I even realize what I’m doing. He’s stunned for a second, his lips slack against mine before he tentatively returns the kiss, the feel of his chapped lips against my own sending a jolt of heat through my body and knocking me back to my senses.

 

“I’m all right, Katniss,” he repeats softly, his blue eyes wide as he stares at me. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling my forehead down against his collarbone. I nod into his chest as tears continue to pour from my eyes, wetting the neckline of his t-shirt. 

 

_ He’s all right. He’s still here. He’s still with me. _

 

I insist that Peeta rest for several minutes, catching his breath while I clean up his leg and apply a fresh bandage. I’ve just helped him to his feet when he freezes, grabbing my forearm and guiding me behind him. Slowly, he crouches to pick up the bow still lying in the dirt, handing it to me. “There’s someone hiding,” he whispers, jerking his head towards a clump of trees. “In there.”

 

I notch an arrow in the bow just as I hear a twig snap behind me. In one motion I turn to the sound, bringing the bow and arrow to my shoulder, but there’s no one there. I blink a few times before I see the tip of a child’s shoe poking out from behind the trunk of a tree about six feet over.

 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” I call towards the tree, lowering my bow and raising my free hand. “We need help. Peeta is hurt. Can you help us?”

 

A girl with bright, dark eyes and satiny brown skin pokes her head around the tree. She’s dressed in a simple cotton shift, carrying a slingshot in the square pocket and wearing boots that look to be handmade. Her small stature and innocent face immediately remind me of Prim.

 

“You can come out,” I say. “We’re trying to find a camp. Is it around here?”

 

“Yes,” the girl says, looking between Peeta and me. “The camp is a few miles from here. I can take you there.”

 

“Thank you,” I say as I sigh in relief. I wrap Peeta’s arm around my shoulders to help support him as we walk. “I’m Katniss, and this is Peeta. We’re from District 12.”

 

“Hello,” the girl says, smiling. “My name is Rue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using a map of Panem found here on AO3 titled Map of Panem and Placement of the Districts by FanficAllergy and Rosefrye for this story. I have it bookmarked if you're interested in looking at it. There are several maps of Panem out there, none of which have been officially approved, and this particular map makes the most sense as to the placement of the districts.
> 
> Also, next Monday is Christmas Day. I will not be posting chapter 5 on Christmas Day, so I can either post the chapter a couple days late, or skip next week. Please let me know what you would prefer. :)
> 
> I'm anxious to see what you guys think! :) Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone who celebrates had a lovely Christmas! It was just Mr. Geeky and the little geeks at my house this year, so a bit quieter than most! :)

_“This is completely unacceptable!” Antonius yells, slamming his fist into one of the Control Room monitors. The blow is strong enough to break the panel, the glass spider-webbing beneath his fingers as drops of blood hit the circuitry below, causing two adjacent monitors to spark as they short out, going blank. “I trained Brutus myself! His record is exemplary. How is it possible he could be defeated!”_

 

_Seneca Crane pales visibly underneath his dark beard. The failure of Brutus to extract Soldier Eighteen does not bode well for his future. “It is an extremely unfortunate turn of events, Minister,” he says carefully. “We may be required to resort to more drastic measures for this case.”_

 

_“Drastic measures,” Minister Antonius scoffs, snatching a handkerchief from the hand of another trainer and wrapping it around his bleeding knuckles. “It is simply absurd that one soldier, from District Twelve of all places, could cause this much trouble.” He turns to the large picture window, through which the trainers observe the progress of the program initiates, rating them in various aspects of strength, agility, and combat. “His scores were satisfactory prior to his deployment, were they not?”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Crane replies. He knows the Minister is well aware of Soldier Eighteen’s scores, as Antonius refuses to sign off on any soldier who he doesn’t deem ready for his or her mission. “If I recall correctly, he received an eight overall.”_

 

_“Yes, yes, more than adequate,” Antonius replies, tapping his chin with his uninjured hand. “Perhaps it was a mistake to send Brutus out. He was nearing middle age, and perhaps not as fit as he was in his youth.”_

 

_Crane shrugs. “It could be that Eighteen was simply fortunate in this occurrence,” he offers. “Sometimes luck will win out over experience, as unusual as that can be. Eighteen did impress us with his strength and his skills in hand-to-hand combat, if I’m remembering correctly.”_

 

_The minister scowls, the white handkerchief wrapped around his injured hand staining red as he clenches his fist. “Well then, perhaps we should change our strategy.” His stormy hazel eyes snap to Crane. “What was the last known position of Brutus?”_

 

_Moving over to an undamaged monitor, Crane taps a few buttons, squinting at the screen. “Approximately fifty miles directly west of District Eight. And if this information is correct, his body is still there.”_

 

_Antonius pauses before nodding. “Very well. I do not wish to send out a hovercraft at this time, as it would not be in either of our interests to alert President Snow to this failure as of yet.” Straightening his shoulders, he nods in the direction of the monitor. “Deploy the Careers. They work well together. Eighteen should be no match for their combined skill and strength.”_

 

_“Send them both, sir?” Crane asks in surprise. In his entire tenure in the Training Center, he’s never seen two assets sent out on the same mission. Especially on something supposedly as simple as a recovery mission. And the Careers have a reputation of being especially bloodthirsty._

 

_“Yes,” Antonius says. “I want this resolved. I’m growing tired of dealing with it.” He glances at Crane, his eyes narrowing. “As are you, I presume.”_

 

_“Yes, sir, I-” Crane starts to say as the monitor beeps, indicating the delivery of another message. He looks at the monitor, quickly scanning the message._

 

_“What is it now?” Antonius snaps. “More trouble?”_

 

_Crane swallows, unsure how to respond. “Ah, it appears that there has been a slight accident within the borders of District Twelve.” He looks at Antonius, tapping his chin. “A Peacekeeper appears to have been killed.”_

 

_Antonius’s lips purse so tightly they almost disappear. “I see. And how did this unfortunate event occur?”_

 

_“Right now the exact details are unknown, sir,” Crane says. “The Commander has not been forthcoming with too much information, as he is apparently rather embarrassed by the actions of this particular Peacekeeper.” Crane shakes his head. “It appears that the Peacekeeper in question was killed while attempting to retrieve… an improper payment for tesserae rations.”_

 

_Antonius grimaces. “An archaic system, the tesserae. I’ve implored President Snow on numerous occasions to change it, but he refuses to see the need. He says it has worked well for over seventy years, so why bother to change?” He tilts his head, tapping his temple. “Perhaps this incident will help him to reconsider that position.”_

 

_“Perhaps, sir,” Crane agrees. “However, an incident such as this should not simply be brushed aside. Our government depends on the proper, and honorable, rule of the Peacekeepers. Under no circumstances should impropriety should be tolerated. Perhaps a change in leadership is needed in District Twelve? Someone who is not so lenient, both with his charges and his lieutenants?”_

 

_Antonius waves his hand impatiently. “This is not of your concern, Mr. Crane,” he says. It is just like Crane to try and deflect attention away from his own problems. “I will personally bring this Peacekeeper incident to the President’s attention. You are to concentrate solely on bringing in Soldier Eighteen.”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Crane replies. He tugs on the collar of his shirt, which feels too tight all of a sudden. The fact that Antonius hasn’t yet involved the President in this mishap is a near miracle, but Crane knows that won’t last forever._

 

_“This is your last chance, Mr. Crane,” Antonius stipulates. “If this does not work, I will have no choice but to inform the President.”_

 

_Gulping, Crane nods. “Very well.” As Antonius exits the Control Room, Crane turns to the trainer recently anointed as his next-in-command, a man by the name of Heavensbee. “Get the Careers in here,” he commands. “I want them briefed and ready to launch by morning.”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Heavensbee replies._

 

* * *

 

Our pace is slow as Rue leads us to the camp, with Peeta’s injuries requiring frequent periods of rest. I insist on walking with my loaded bow in one hand, just in case we’re attacked again.

 

Rue tells us a little about her family as we walk. She’s thirteen years old, the oldest of six children with the youngest only a small toddler. Her family escaped from District 11 over a year ago after the sudden disappearance of her father.

 

“He worked in one of the orchards, like we all did,” Rue says. “My brother and I were the best climbers, so we worked at the very tops of the trees. My mom and my sister Poppy were on the teams that separated the fruits, and my father would pack and load boxes for transport to the Capitol.”

 

“What happened to him?” I ask. This all sounds eerily familiar.

 

“One night he didn’t come home,” Rue answers softly. “He was always the last of us to return for the night, and one night he just didn’t.” She sniffs, swiping at her nose. “The explanation we got, that he’d either fallen into a ditch or been run over by a truck didn’t make any sense, because even if someone dies during the harvest, we’re still allowed to bury them. But in Eleven we’re not allowed to question the Peacekeepers, so if they tell you something, you pretty much have to accept it.”

 

Just then Peeta stumbles on a branch in our path, yanking on my shoulder and nearly pulling us both to the ground. Rue slides her hand under his other arm to help keep him upright.

 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his voice still hoarse from being choked. “But I need to rest. Please, for a moment.”

 

I glance at Rue, who nods in the direction of a fallen tree. We prop Peeta up against the large trunk as I dig through the first-aid kit from his pack, looking for anything that might help him as Rue starts combing the floor of the forest a few feet away, apparently searching for something.

 

She halts suddenly, stooping down to gather up several handfuls of leaves that she stuffs into her pocket. “We’re running low on these,” she explains. “They’re the best for treating tracker jacker stings and other mutt injuries.”

 

“Are there a lot of nests near the camp?” I ask, thinking of Peeta. If the tracker jacker stings he suffered are responsible for his memory loss, it’s likely even more important for him to avoid them.

 

“The camp’s more out in the open,” Rue replies. “But there’s quite a few nests in these woods.” She looks at me. “Have you been stung before?”

 

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But Peeta has.” I lower my voice. “And it wasn’t pretty at all.”

 

Rue nods somberly. “I’ve seen people stung before. It’s very scary, the things they see.”

 

After I’m able to cajole Peeta into swallowing some pills for pain and fever and a few sips of water, we hoist him back up and continue on.

 

“My father disappeared too,” I say to Rue. “Like yours. He went down into the mines one morning and never came out. The same thing happened with my cousin Gale’s father. They disappeared within a few months of each other.”

 

Rue nods, kicking a stone out of the way as we walk. “I’d heard about it happening, of course. People at school would talk about it sometimes, how a friend or family member would simply vanish from time to time. But until it happened to me, I never really thought too much more about it.” Her shoulders sag as she hangs her head. “And by then, it was too late.”

 

One more brief stop later and we exit the woods into a clearing lined on one side by a fast-flowing stream. Two lines of crude stone and log shelters sit perpendicular to each other opposite the stream, with a couple of larger buildings interspersed within the houses. Adults and children of all ages are roaming around doing various chores, from washing clothes in wooden tubs and weaving cloth on looms to tending various animals housed in pens and weeding what appears to be a large vegetable garden. In the distance I can see fields of freshly harvested cotton and grain.

 

“There’s a group of men out hunting and gathering right now,” Rue explains as we limp towards her family’s house. “Since winter is coming soon we’re trying to stock up while we can. They should be returning within the week, according to my mother.” She stops in front of a house about halfway down one of the rows. “Since there’s seven of us, my family has our own house,” she says. “But we have plenty of room for you guys as well, if that’s okay with you.”

 

A quick glance at the size of the houses tells me they’re about half as big as ours was back in Twelve. They must have to sleep practically on top of each other. “Sure, that’s fine.”

 

“You can put your things down here while I go look for my mother,” she says, pointing to a makeshift bench near the door. “Then she can have a look at Peeta’s leg.”

 

“Thank you,” I reply as I help Peeta down onto the bench. His face is drawn and pale as his weary eyes lock with mine.

 

“Katniss, I don’t feel so good,” he says as he slumps, nearly tipping over onto the ground.

 

Alarmed, I place the back of my hand against his forehead to find that despite the pills I gave him earlier, he’s still burning with fever. His struggle with our attacker must have caused the infection in his leg to flare up. Carefully, I maneuver him down and lay his head in my lap, combing my fingers through his hair, which has finally started to curl on the ends. “Rue went to find her mother. She’ll be able to fix you up and then you can rest. We’re here now, Peeta. We don’t have to run anymore.”

 

His eyes flutter closed as he shakes his head. “They’ll just find me again,” he says in between short, panting breaths. “We'll never be safe. You’ll never be safe with me.”

 

I want so badly to ask him again who ‘they’ are, and why ‘they’ are so keen on finding him, but remembering how that conversation went before, I refrain. Plus, his fever is high enough right now that he might not even remember any of this later on.

 

“Stay with me, Peeta,” I say instead. “Don’t you quit on me now. Rue’s momma will be able to fix you up.”

 

“No one can fix me,” he mumbles. “I’m broken beyond repair. Mutated and warped into…”

 

“Stop!” I cry, silencing him. His eyes snap open in confusion as my tears spill over, dripping down onto his forehead. I know none of this makes sense to him, especially in his feverish state, but the fact that I just watched him almost get killed right in front of me will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. “Just… stop talking like that. I can’t lose you again, Peeta. I just can’t!”

 

Blinking in confusion, he nods. “Okay, Katniss. Okay.”

 

I manage to get myself composed by the time Rue returns with her mother, a slender woman with beautiful brown curly hair and carrying a sleeping toddler tied to her back with a length of cloth. She has the tired look of a mother with too much to do and not enough rest, but her brown eyes are kind and her voice soft. Rue introduces her as Fern.

 

“This is Katniss and Peeta, from District Twelve,” Rue says to her mother. “I found them in the woods when I was foraging.”

 

“I see,” Fern replies with a sigh. “Well, let’s get him around back so I can take a look. It’ll be too dark in the house this late in the day.”

 

We half carry, half drag Peeta around to the back of the house, where Fern instructs us to lay him down on a large mat made from tightly woven straw. I blush as she slides his pants off, once again turning my gaze away from the festering wound on his leg. More blood has seeped through the bandage that I applied only a few hours ago, and the smell of dying flesh is back with a vengeance.

 

To my surprise, Fern stuffs a handful of the leaves Rue collected into her mouth and begins chewing. A minute later she pulls out the gloppy wad of chewed leaves, pressing it carefully into the wound. Almost immediately pus starts to pour out, running down the side of Peeta’s leg as he cries out in pain.

 

“What did this?” Fern asks, looking at me as Rue tries to hold Peeta’s legs still. “Was it a mutt?”

 

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling helpless as Peeta squeezes my hand so hard my knuckles crack. “Peeta was missing for almost six months, his family’s bakery was destroyed and everyone thought he was dead. Then one night when my two cousins were out hunting, they found him unconscious at the foot of a clump of trees. He had those claw marks and several tracker jacker stings. We brought him to my house and fixed him up as best as we could, but when he woke up he couldn’t remember anything. Not his name, where he came from, nothing.” I break off, blinking back more tears. “He nearly died from the fever before my cousin’s girlfriend was able to get us an anti-infective from the Capitol.”

 

“Mmm,” Fern mumbles as she stuffs more leaves into her mouth. “It definitely looks like a mutt’s wound. These never completely heal.” She shakes her head. “But I’ve never heard of a mutt attack causing memory loss like that.”

 

I choke back a sob. “His leg was looking better until we were attacked on our way here.”

 

“Attacked?” Fern asks in alarm. “Who attacked you?”

 

“In the woods, right before Rue found us,” I say, my heart lurching as Peeta lets out another wail of agony, nearly rousing the sleeping toddler tied to Fern’s back.

 

“It was a huge man, Momma,” Rue says. “I saw most of it. He was even bigger than Thresh. Katniss shot him with an arrow, and then Peeta launched him into a tree trunk.”

 

Fern’s eyes widen in surprise. “Peeta’s strong,” I say. “Really strong. He used to lift sacks of flour that weighed a hundred pounds or more.”

 

“Well, that’s a good thing,” she replies. “Being strong will help him fight this infection.” She looks fondly towards her oldest daughter. “It’s also a good thing that Rue found all these leaves, because we were nearly out of them.”

 

It takes three applications of the leaves and more pus than I ever want to see again in my life before the wound starts to show improvement. Now that the swelling has gone down, Fern applies some homemade disinfecting ointment and bandages it up with a strip of cloth, covering him with a fresh pair of pants that Rue borrows from one of the neighbors.

 

“He shouldn’t do too much for a couple of days,” Fern says, untying her child who has awoken from her nap and is eyeing Peeta with curiosity. “These wounds will flare up every time he over-exerts himself.”

 

I nod, fighting back another onslaught of tears. “We’d been traveling for several days before that man attacked us. Neither one of us has slept well in a long time.”

 

“Very well,” Fern says as she gathers up her supplies. “I have more questions for the two of you, but now isn’t the time for questions.” She pats Peeta on the shoulder, his blue eyes clearer but still exhausted. “You sleep now, young man. You’re safe here.” She turns to Rue. “Better tell them to set up a perimeter guard, just in case.” Rue nods and hurries off.

 

Peeta gives absolutely no argument, and after drinking some water he drops off into an uneasy sleep. I stretch out on the mat next to him, draping my arm across his chest. Despite my own exhaustion, my mind is spinning with too many questions for me to sleep quite yet.

 

Who was that man who attacked us? It almost seemed like he knew Peeta, or at least was familiar with him. Why did he call him ‘Soldier’? How was Peeta able to throw him off like he did? Peeta is strong, he used to be able to lift me easily. But while I weigh less than a sack of flour, the man who attacked us was easily three of me. And Peeta was already weakened with fatigue and his leg wound.

 

I startle as Peeta jerks in his sleep, whimpering as he buries his face into my neck. I bring my hand up to his face, trailing my fingers along his scruffy jaw, feeling his body relax under my touch. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here with you.”

 

“Please, stay with me!” he cries out. He’s still dreaming, his eyes are closed as his arm reaches around my waist, pressing me close to him. “Don’t leave me!”

 

“I won’t leave you, Peeta,” I whisper. “Not ever.”

 

“Stay with me,” he repeats as he relaxes against me, his arm tight around my waist.

 

“Always, Peeta,” I murmur, reaching up to kiss his jaw. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

I’m confused when I wake, snuggled up next to Peeta under a rough woven blanket. It takes me a few seconds to remember where we are.

 

“Good morning,” a small voice says from behind me. I whip my head around to see one of Rue’s younger sisters holding a bowl and spoon. She looks so much like Rue that without the height difference, it would be difficult to tell them apart. Just like Peeta and his middle brother, Rye. And Gale and Rory.

 

“Good morning,” I reply as I yawn and stretch, trying not to jostle Peeta.

 

The little girl pushes the bowl into my hand, filled with some kind of hot porridge. “I’m Poppy,” she says. “We saved you some breakfast.”

 

“Thank you,” I say as I take the spoon from her. I take a tentative taste, finding it to closely resemble the porridge we make back in Twelve with our tesserae grain. Poppy smiles at my approval and skips back around to the front of the house.

 

After finishing half of the bowl, I gently shake Peeta’s shoulder. “Wake up, Peeta. You need to eat.”

 

His eyes flutter open, the sunlight glinting off his long blond eyelashes. To my delight his eyes are almost clear this morning, with only a remnant of the clouded, feverish look they had when we arrived here.

 

He yawns and stretches before sitting up with my help. “Good morning.”

 

“You’re feeling better?” I ask as he takes a bite of the porridge.

 

He smiles, and it’s so much like how he used to smile at me, that sweet smile with just the right touch of shyness, that my breath catches in my throat. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better.”

 

He finishes the rest of the bowl while Fern comes around to check on his leg. I brace myself when she unwraps the bandage but the wound looks to be healing well, with no further swelling and very little tenderness.

 

“I still want you to rest for awhile,” she says to Peeta. She looks over at me, one eyebrow cocked as she thinks. “You said he was a baker back in your district?”

 

“Yes,” I say. “His family owned a bakery.”

 

Fern nods as she stands up, instructing us to move around to the front of the house before disappearing inside. She returns with a bushel of raw grain and a wooden mallet. “This is called threshing,” she says as she lays the grain down over one of the woven mats before pounding it with the mallet. I watch as the dry, straw ends of the grain stalks detach from the edible heads. “It requires a strong arm, but it shouldn’t cause your leg to flare up if you take frequent enough breaks.” She hands the mallet to Peeta. “Think you can handle it?”

 

Peeta turns the mallet over in his hands, studying it as if he’s searching for a memory of when he’s done something like this before. His right hand grips the handle as he slams it down onto the grain. “Yes,” he says. “I can handle it.”

 

“Excellent,” Fern replies as she gets back up to her feet. “And for you, Katniss, we have plenty of washing that needs doing.” She sighs, shaking her head. “I detest doing laundry. Do you mind?”

 

I’m not a big fan of washing clothes either, but while I’d much rather join the hunting party, I’m not comfortable leaving Peeta alone here yet. “Not at all,” I say as three of Rue’s siblings lug over a large tub of warm water, along with a pile of clothing and linens so large I’m surprised there’s not another child hiding in it. “I used to help my cousins’ mom with her laundry business all the time.”

 

Fern hands me a bar of lye soap. “Great. Rue is out collecting more leaves since Peeta almost used up our supply. I need to take my shift in the garden in a few minutes. Will the two of you be okay by yourselves? We break for lunch at midday.”

 

I look over at Peeta, pounding away on the grain with the mallet and looking the most at ease that he has since Gale found him half-dead in the woods. “Yes, we’ll be fine.”

 

“All right then.” After tying her youngest onto her back, Fern herds the rest of her children over to the huge garden and directs them to start pulling weeds.

 

The work is simple but exhausting, and by the time midday rolls around my back and arms are begging for relief. Peeta looks tired as well, with his cheeks flushed and his hair damp with sweat.

 

“You should rest after we eat,” I say as I wipe the sweat from his brow with a cold cloth. “I don’t want your infection flaring up again.”

 

“I’m fine, Katniss,” he replies, rather impatiently as Fern returns with her children with a basket of food. After a meal of greens and some leftover meat from a bird she calls a groosling, Fern takes Peeta into the small house to examine his leg.

 

“You’ve both done well,” she says when they return, observing the clean clothes draped over the clothesline and the large pile of wheat ready for winnowing. She looks at me with a wink. “I may keep the both of you around for awhile.”

 

Peeta and I turn to each other and smile. “Yes, I think we’d like that,” I say.

 

We spend the rest of the afternoon snapping green beans and shelling peas, with Fern introducing us to some of the neighbors as they return from their daily chores. Once Rue arrives back from her foraging, she takes over so Fern can prepare supper, telling us stories about her life in District 11 before her father vanished.

 

“Before we came here, I’d never had an entire groosling leg to myself before,” she says, grinning as she pops a pea into her mouth. “In fact, we really only got meat during the harvest.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “They didn’t want us dropping from starvation until the harvest was over.”

 

My eyes widen in surprise. “I always thought you guys had more to eat than us,” I say. “You know, since you grow the food.”

 

“Oh no,” Rue says, shaking her head. “We were never allowed to eat the crops.”

 

“Why not?” Peeta asks. “What would happen if you did?”

 

Rue leans in, lowering her voice. “If you’re lucky, they’d only whip you. If you weren’t so lucky, well… ” her voice trails off as she eyes her younger siblings. “Mom doesn’t like me to talk about stuff like that around here.”

 

“But, doesn’t that seem counterproductive?” Peeta asks. “I mean, if you want a good workforce, it would make sense to feed them well, doesn’t it? So they’d be strong enough to work well?”

 

Rue looks taken aback. “You guys came from District Twelve, right?”

 

“Yes, but Peeta doesn’t remember much from before he was found in the woods,” I say. What Peeta’s saying makes perfect sense, of course. But no one’s ever accused the Peacekeepers of making sense. All they care about is keeping order and control.

 

“If the Peacekeepers in Twelve were as brutal as the ones in Eleven, maybe it’s best that he doesn’t remember,” Fern says as she appears next to us, bearing wooden plates of ham and some sort of starchy root vegetable. She hands a plate to Peeta, indicating that he and I are to share it. “Sorry, we only have so many plates.”

 

I’m too busy savoring the taste of the ham to do more than nod in reply. Gale and I had managed to catch a couple of wild pigs during our hunts over the years, but they were so rare, and therefore valuable, we’d always ended up selling them to the butcher instead of keeping them for ourselves. A quick glance over at Peeta tells me he’s enjoying it just as much as me. His family used to keep pigs, but he always told me they were only for sale or trade. Even though his mother was the butcher’s sister, family relations only go so far in District 12.

 

“So,” Fern says after a couple minutes. “What caused the two of you to leave Twelve?”

 

“I killed a Peacekeeper,” Peeta says. He glances over at me as I gasp, his eyes flashing with a possessive look that I haven’t seen since before he disappeared. “It was an accident, I didn’t mean to kill him.” His eyes meet mine again and that old, familiar stir inside my chest, the warmth that I always felt when he looked at me before comes rushing back. “But he was going to hurt Katniss.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

 

To my astonishment, Fern doesn’t even look shocked. “I suspected it was something like that,” she says kindly. “You seem like the type that would protect his lady’s honor at any cost.” She looks over at Rue. “Just like your father.”

 

Rue smiles sadly as she swallows a bite of vegetable. “My father was a gentleman. And he was also the bravest man I’ve ever seen. He was flogged once, for something he didn’t deserve, and he didn’t even whimper once until he got home.”

 

Peeta cocks an eyebrow. “Why was he flogged?”

 

“He was defending someone,” Rue explains. “A man on his team collapsed from dehydration during one of the warmest days of the summer. The Peacekeepers were going to flog him, but the man was old, and my father knew he’d never survive it. So he took his place.”

 

There’s a moment of silence as Peeta and I process that information. “That was very brave,” Peeta says. “You’re right to be proud of him.”

 

“Yeah,” Rue says, running her finger over her plate to get every last crumb. “He vanished only a couple months later. Little Juniper was only six months old, so she’ll never even remember him.”

 

“All right,” Fern pipes up. “That’s enough of that talk. Let’s get these little ones ready for bed. Katniss, you and Peeta will want to sleep indoors tonight since the weather’s starting to turn.”

 

It hits me then that in the day we’ve been here, I haven’t yet seen the inside of the house. Rue and I gather up the plates, and after helping Peeta to his feet, we step inside.

 

As I guessed, the inside is a single room, with a stone fireplace against the back wall and a small, low table next to it. A few pails and other tools are stacked in the corner near the table, along with a small chest of drawers, piled high with several fur pelts that they must use as coverings during the winter. About a third of the wooden floor is covered in large straw mats, like the one we slept on last night.

 

“We all sleep over here,” Rue says, pointing to the mats, each with a blanket folded on one end. She hands me what looks to be a dress for sleeping, long and white with a tie neckline. “But you and Peeta can sleep against the opposite wall if you want. It’ll give you some more privacy.”

 

I can feel the blush rising on my cheeks as I nod in thanks. Fern and Rue have both assumed that there’s more to Peeta’s and my relationship than there is, and I should probably correct them at some point. If only to save myself from embarrassment.

 

“That’s very kind of you,” Peeta says as Poppy tries to hand him a mat. “We have a sleeping bag and a blanket already, so we will be fine.” He tugs on my hand, leading me over to the corner near the fireplace to arrange our bedding. I guess he’s not too worried about correcting assumptions.

 

After washing up at the tub next to the privy closet out back, we climb into the sleeping bag together. Peeta immediately slides his arm around my waist, pulling my back snug against his chest.

 

“Is this okay?” he asks shyly. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

 

“Mmmhmm,” I murmur. “Thank you.”

 

We’re quiet as the children fidget and whimper before finally falling asleep. I’ve just about drifted off myself when Peeta shifts, propping himself up on his elbow.

 

“Katniss?” His breath is warm as it fans over my ear, making me shiver.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

My eyes snap open at the tone of his voice, curious, but also warm and playful, as if deep down he’s still the same person who gave me his beloved sketchbook on my sixteenth birthday.

 

“Yeah?”

 

His arm twitches as he hesitates, clearing his throat. “Um, back in the woods yesterday, before Rue found us… you kissed me. I didn’t imagine that, did I?”

 

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as my mind races, trying to figure out how to respond. I guess I thought he’d forgotten about the kiss with how sick he was once we arrived here.

 

His hand slides over my cheek, turning my head to meet his eyes, bright blue even in the almost pitch darkness. “Katniss?”

 

“No,” I choke out. “You didn’t imagine it.”

 

The corners of his lips curl slightly, his eyes flicking briefly to my mouth. “Why did you do that?”

 

 _Because I love you, and I almost lost you,_ is my instinctive response, but thankfully it doesn’t make it from my brain to my lips. “I was just… really glad you weren’t dead,” I stammer instead. “That man almost killed you.”

 

He stares at me for a few more seconds, glancing again at my mouth before nodding. “Okay,” he says as he lays back down. His arm tightens over my waist, pulling me flush against him, my head resting on his other arm. “Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

I slowly let out a breath as my eyes close, reveling in Peeta's closeness and warmth. “Goodnight.”

 

I’m nearly asleep again when he whispers my name. “Katniss?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Um… is that the only time you’ve ever kissed me?”

 

Once again I’m wide awake. “No,” I say. I can’t bring myself to lie to him. I’ve always been a terrible liar. “No, it’s not.”

 

I feel him exhale against me. “I didn’t think so. It seemed… familiar.” His head tilts up to whisper in my ear. “I liked it. You can… um, what I mean is… feel free to kiss me whenever you like.”

 

My heart clenches in my chest as I choke out a laugh. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” he whispers. His hand reaches up to brush a stray hair from my cheek, something he used to do all the time during our Saturdays in the woods. “Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

“Goodnight, Peeta.”

 

His arm tightens around me, and when I feel his lips press softly against the back of my head as his hand finds mine, interlacing our fingers, I have to stifle my gasp at the warmth that floods my body.

 

 _This doesn’t mean anything_ I try and tell myself. _He doesn’t remember me, doesn’t remember us. He’s only trying to keep us warm._

 

But if that’s so, then why did he tell me I could kiss him whenever I feel like it? That’s exactly something the old Peeta would’ve said. In fact, I’m pretty sure he did say something like that to me before. And if he meant it as a joke, then why did he wait to say it until we were essentially alone?

 

Maybe what Prim said is true. Maybe there is a chance he can come back to me.

 

I tighten my fingers in his, feeling his reassuring squeeze in return. _Tomorrow,_ I think. _Tomorrow I’ll start talking to him, try to help him remember._ I can start with the basic things, like his family, what he liked to bake, how he loved to draw, things like that. I’ll take it slow and see how it goes. If we’re going to be living here at this settlement for the foreseeable future, then we should have plenty of time.

 

I slowly let out a breath and close my eyes, burrowing imperceptibly further into his embrace. As I finally drift off to sleep, I feel the pleasant tendrils of something that I haven’t felt in long, long time.

 

Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm really looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope 2018 brings joy and blessings to all of you! :)
> 
> A huge thank you to titaniasfics for betaing this chapter!!

_ Minister Antonius flinches as his personal secretary cleans and bandages his injured hand. He’d been in such a foul mood after leaving the Control Room the previous day that he’d immediately returned to his lavish apartment overlooking the river to partake in some of the single malt Scotch he kept hidden in one of the drawers of his mahogany desk. While Antonius was no stranger to liquor; he was, after all, on the staff of the President, this particular Scotch was handed down to him by his grandfather, and so was especially potent. It was not, therefore, too much of a shock when he woke up this morning with his head resting on the polished surface of his desk, the fingers of his uninjured hand still wrapped around the crystal glass. _

 

_ At least he’d had the good sense to send his wife to the spa for the week. The servants can look after the children, but the last thing he needs now is to have Lucilia trying to fuss over him when he’s in the middle of a crisis. He should know better than to lose his temper in the Control Room, but that dastardly Head Trainer, Seneca Crane, always seems to know just how to irritate him. Damn that man. _

 

_ Things were much easier when he was Head Trainer. If only the President hadn’t insisted on promoting him. His current position as Minister of Security was highly regarded, but carried little real power in the grand scheme of things. Monitoring the rule of the Head Peacekeepers in each district was hardly something worthy of his training and expertise. It had only required approximately ninety minutes of his time to replace the idiot Cray in District 12 with Romulus Thread and send in another battalion of Peacekeepers. And from the reports he has already seen, order is quickly being restored. _

 

_ But overseeing a program so covert that not even the President is aware of its existence is not exactly something he can discuss at the many social gatherings that demand his presence. Being unable to discuss Ellipses with anyone worthy of his time is one of the things that continuously drives down his mood. _

 

_ Antonius grimaces again as the secretary finishes with his hand. “Go and wait on the sofa in my office,” he commands. The woman’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise but she nods, gathering up the leftover bandages and walking into his inner office. With luck, she’ll have even shed her clothing but the time he makes it in there, as he fears his injured hand would make removing the garments himself rather difficult. He doesn’t often order such things from this particular secretary, preferring to utilize the services of the younger, more attractive women at the mansion when the need arises. But given his impatience, and general irritation at the entire situation, he does not wish to wait any longer than necessary. _

 

_ The telephone on the secretary’s desk buzzes, the harsh noise causing him to jump. He thinks briefly about calling the woman back out of his office to answer the call, but if she has already disrobed that might not be the best idea. _

 

_ “Damn,” he grumbles as he stares at the phone. It is far beneath him to answer his own telephone, but he did tell Crane to contact him if there were any developments regarding Soldier Eighteen, so…  _

 

_ “Yes?” he growls into the receiver. _

 

_ “Minister Antonius, sir,” a man says, obviously not expecting to hear the Minister’s own voice. _

 

_ “Yes?” Antonius repeats. “Who is this?” _

 

_ “This is Plutarch Heavensbee, sir,” the man replies. “Head Trainer Crane asked me to inform you that there will be a slight delay in the deployment of the Careers.” _

 

_ Antonius clenches his fist, watching as the pristine white bandage becomes stained with red. “Delay?” _

 

_ Heavensbee clears his throat. “Yes, sir. President Snow has requested their presence at his birthday celebration in four days’ time.” _

 

_ “I see,” Antonius says. “And the President asked for them personally, did he?” _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Heavensbee says. “Mr. Crane received the memo only moments ago.” _

 

_ Glancing at his closed office door, Antonius clenches his jaw in frustration. “Very well. Please inform Mr. Crane that I want them deployed as soon as the President’s celebration is concluded. Within the hour, at the very latest.” _

 

_ “Very well, sir,” Heavensbee replies. “I will tell him.” _

 

_ Antonius slams down the phone, breathing in slowly through his nose in an effort to calm himself. He knew it was a mistake to promote the weasel-like Crane into his former position, but Crane had had all of the appropriate qualifications and had come on the personal recommendation of the President. And with the secrecy of their work, he was not in any position to refuse Crane the promotion without risking questions he did not want to answer. _

 

_ But, damn it, none of the soldiers he personally trained had ever gone missing for longer than an hour or two. And with only one exception, all had successfully completed their missions. It is not worth mentioning that the single failed mission Antonius had during his tenure was also based in District 12. He doesn’t want to give Crane the satisfaction. _

 

_ No. What Antonius will do is allow Crane just enough rope for the man to hang himself. Then he’ll be able to promote someone else to the Head Trainer position. Someone trustworthy, who knows how to get things done without requiring constant supervision. _

 

_ Perhaps someone like that Heavensbee fellow. _

 

* * *

The sound of small footsteps pattering against the wooden floor rouses me awake. As awareness spreads over my body I notice that Peeta’s arm is still draped over my waist, with my hand still firmly encased in his own. We’re both in the same exact position we were in when we fell asleep last night. 

 

The feeling that I’m being watched causes me to open my eyes, and I jump a little when I see a pair of playful brown eyes about four inches away from my nose, staring intently at my face. It’s Rue’s five-year old sister, whose name escapes me at the moment.

 

“Mommy says it’s time to get up,” the girl says, her smile showing a missing bottom front tooth. “I was just gonna poke you when you opened your eyes.”

 

I can’t help but smile at the adorable little girl, with her cute dimples and curly, sleep-tousled brown hair. Her demeanor reminds me so much of Prim when she was small. “Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get to poke me.”

 

Her nose scrunches as she giggles, looking over me at Peeta. “He’s still asleep,” she says. “Can I poke him?”

 

My face falls as I sigh. “That’s probably not the best idea,” I say. “He doesn’t like being startled.”

 

“Oh,” she says as her brow furrows. “What does start-tled mean?”

 

I slowly disentangle my hand from Peeta’s as I sit up, keeping his arm draped over me. “He’s seen some really scary things,” I explain. “And he still gets scared when things happen that he doesn’t expect, so we want to make sure we’re extra gentle with him. Okay?”

 

The girl tilts her head, pondering for a moment. “Gentle. Like Mommy says to be with Juniper?”

 

“Exactly,” I say, poking her playfully in the belly. “Just like that.”

 

Her brown eyes sweep over Peeta again, who still hasn’t moved. “Okay, if you say so. But he doesn’t look anything like Juniper.”

 

“Aster, it’s time for breakfast,” Poppy calls from near the fireplace, ladling porridge into bowls from the large kettle on the hearth. She hands one to each of her siblings before crossing the room to bring one to me. I take it with a grateful nod as I look around. I can see Fern feeding the baby over in the corner, but no sign of Rue. She must have already eaten and left on her foraging run. The days continue to get shorter, and I would imagine fairly soon all the leaves will have dried up until spring.

 

Peeta finally stirs, scratching at his scruffy chin and cheeks. I’m going to have to ask around and see if I can borrow a razor so he can shave. His blond hair is sticking up in all directions, which makes me smile. It’s finally grown out long enough for it to have that messy, bed-head look that I’ve always loved.

 

“Good morning,” he says as he opens his eyes.

 

“Good morning,” I reply softly. “You didn’t have any nightmares.”

 

“What?” he asks as he sits up. “I didn’t catch that.”

 

“You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” I repeat, looking away because I can feel myself blushing. “You slept well. Almost like you were happy.”

 

He brings his strong arms up over his head, stretching and yawning. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

 

I can sense his eyes on me as I take a bite of the porridge, like he’s studying me. “Katniss?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

When he doesn’t continue, I turn to look at him, nearly dropping the porridge at the anguish clouding his blue eyes. Setting the bowl down on the floor, I take his hand. “Peeta? What is it?”

 

His gaze flickers over to the opposite corner, where Fern is eating with her children. “It’s so hard,” he says, his voice strained. “I keep trying to remember things, and sometimes there’ll be a flicker of something, or I’ll look at you, and it’s like I know there’s something there, like I can see the edge of it, but I just can’t quite reach it.” He huffs out a breath, raking his hand through his hair. “Like what you said when I woke up, that I slept like I was happy. Or when we’ve slept together during the nights since we left District Twelve, all that seems so familiar, but yet I can’t see why.”

 

My face is burning like fire, and I try to turn my head away but Peeta’s fingers on my chin stop me. “Katniss, please,” he pleads. “Don’t turn away from me. I need you. You’re the only person who knows me, and I need you to help me with this.”

 

I so desperately want to tell Peeta everything about who he is, and who I am, and how we ended up here, but I have no idea where to start. I feel that anything I tell him will be laced with selfishness, and I can’t do that to him. He’s the most selfless person I’ve ever known, and he deserves the same.

 

“Katniss?” he says, his fingers still holding my chin in place. My lower lip starts to quiver. “Will you help me?”

 

“Yes,” I whisper, powerless to resist the intensity of his eyes boring into mine. “I’ll help you.”

 

His shoulders sag as he audibly sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

 

We eat the rest of our breakfast in a comfortable silence, and after Fern examines Peeta’s leg and we change clothes, we’re given our work assignments. Fern asks me to aid one of the fabric weavers with spinning thread from the freshly harvested cotton. This chore is followed by threading the impressive weaving loom to make more fabric. With the cooler weather upon us, having extra blankets and clothing for layering is essential. It is slow, methodical work, but enjoyable as I get to know the weaver, an older lady named Dot. She’s a widow from District 8 and part of the first group of settlers in this camp, escaping here after the disappearance of her son.

 

Peeta continues with threshing grain, which he does so well and so quickly, it actually frees up two more people for foraging. As he works, Poppy and Aster take the threshed grain and run it through straw mats specifically woven for winnowing. The two girls giggle as they toss the handfuls of grain into the air and catch it on the mats, and on the second day I actually hear Peeta laugh for the first time since before he disappeared.

 

Following the winnowing process, the grain that’s not stored for later use is either cooked or baked into rough, dense flatbread like we eat in District 12. The flatbreads are cooked in pans instead of an oven, and once Peeta realizes that there is no proper baking oven at the settlement, he vows to build one. He begins work the following day, using the final hour between supper and dusk to search for rocks the correct shape and size since there are no proper bricks available.

 

In the evenings after dark, we spend a lot of time talking with Fern and Rue by the fireplace after the younger children fall asleep. We share stories about life in our respective districts, which are quite eye-opening for Peeta and me. For as difficult as I thought we had it in District 12, it seems like it is even worse in Eleven, where Peacekeepers don’t hesitate to murder children for simple mistakes and publicly whip people with only the slightest provocation.

 

“So why don’t you think they come looking for us?” I ask Fern as she hands us cups of herbal tea mixed with honey. “It seems odd that they don’t, doesn’t it?”

 

“They tried to at first,” Fern says, taking a sip of her tea. “According to those who have been here from the beginning, there were a few groups of Peacekeepers from both Eleven and Eight who tried to raid the settlement.”

 

“What happened?” Peeta asks.

 

“We fought back,” Fern says with a small smile. “You see, at least in Eleven, Peacekeepers aren't used to doing any real work. The district citizens do everything for them. We build their houses, and grow their food, and basically wait on them hand and foot. The only thing they really do is walk around, barking orders.”

 

“And flog anyone who doesn’t obey fast enough,” Rue adds. 

 

Fern glances at her daughter before continuing. “Yes. Public floggings and other punishments are the main way they demonstrate their power. But besides that, they don’t really pose that much of a threat. At least not to us here.” She squares her shoulders proudly. “We may not have guns, but I’d say the odds are in our favor regardless. We’re survivors, while they can’t really survive without us. Without the poor district workers, their entire system collapses.”

 

I think of Peacekeeper Cray, wandering around District 12 with that sneer on his face, one hand always on his baton. The look of barely disguised disgust whenever he knocked on the door of my house, looking for his tesserae payments. He must be nearing sixty years old, and although he tries to look tough, I bet Peeta could take him out easily if it ever came down to that. He managed to stop Drake, who was much younger and stronger.

 

Maybe Gale’s right. Maybe they are scared of us.

 

After finishing our tea and prepping for bed, Peeta and I slide into the sleeping bag. He drapes his arm over my waist and pulls me flush against him, his breath warm on the back of my head.

 

“Katniss?” he whispers once the house is quiet. “Tell me more.”

 

As I’ve done for the past few nights, I roll over to face him. “What do you want to hear about tonight?”

 

“Tell me more about you,” he answers. “You’ve told me all about your family, especially your sister, but not a lot about just you.”

 

I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. “There’s not that much to tell. I’m not really that interesting.”

 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

 

“It’s true,” I protest, wishing I could roll back over and go to sleep. This is a bad idea.

 

“Well, why don’t we start with something basic?” Peeta says. “I mean, I think it’s strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine, but besides being good with a bow, I hardly know anything about you.”

 

I swallow hard. “What do you want to know?”

 

I can barely make out his shy smile in the darkness, his fingers drumming on my hip. “Like, what’s your favorite color?”

 

Well, maybe this I can handle. “Green,” I say. “Like the trees in the woods.”

 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. “That makes sense. You seemed right at home when we were there.”

 

“Yeah,” I say. I glance longingly at my bow and arrows, sitting over in the corner next to my game bag. I should ask if I can start hunting in the evenings while Peeta’s out searching for rocks for his oven.

 

“And… what’s your favorite food?” he asks.

 

_ Cheese buns, _ I want to say, but that would probably confuse him. “Bread,” I say instead. “The good kind, like what you made at my house that one time.”

 

His smile grows even wider. “Well, once I get the oven built, I’ll make you some more. Okay? As payment for answering all of my questions?”

 

“You don’t owe me anything, Peeta,” I reply, burrowing closer to him. His body has always radiated heat better than any coal stove. “I don’t mind answering your questions.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Well, then how about just because I want to do something nice for you. Would you allow that?”

 

Ducking my head, I nod into his chest. “I’ll allow it.”

 

“Thank you,” he whispers. His hand splays out over my hip, pressing me as flush against him as possible. “Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

But more words start to tumble out. “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright orange, but softer, like the sunset.” Before he was taken, we used to love to watch the sunsets together on Saturdays.

 

“Orange?” He seems unconvinced.

 

“Yeah.”

 

His hand tightens on my hip. “Tell me more.” 

 

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

 

When he doesn’t respond right away, I continue, knowing these stream-of-consciousness talks are much easier in the dark, where it’s easier for me to hide. “It’s why you didn’t like the tea tonight, it was too sweet with the honey stirred in. It’s why you keep drawing pictures in the dirt with sticks during your free time. It’s why you never trip over your shoelaces, because they never come untied. And it’s why you don’t sleep very well some nights, without an open window. You always said you needed the air moving around you while you slept.”

 

I can feel his body trembling as he inhales a shaky breath. “Katniss,” he chokes out. “You know all these things about me?”

 

Biting my bottom lip, I nod my head.

 

“How?”

 

“I told you,” I say. “We were friends, Peeta. We are friends.” My teeth dig even further into my bottom lip as I wait for him to respond. I know Prim would be furious if she knew how badly I just dropped the ball here, but I can’t bring myself to chase after it now.

 

“Okay,” he says, sounding skeptical. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” I reply as I roll in his arms, scooting my back against his chest. “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

* * *

The routines continue, and as the days pass we grow more and more comfortable. Peeta threshes grain, then works on his oven until dark. I assist Dot with the spinning and weaving, Rue continues her foraging until all the leaves are dried up, and the younger children try to stay out of everyone’s way. In the evenings after supper, Rue and Fern sing songs that they used to sing back in Eleven while they were harvesting.

 

The hunting party returns, bearing several wild pigs, three deer, various types of geese and other birds, and enough rabbits to hopefully last through the colder months. One of the men, who Rue tells me is named Thresh, is carrying a large deer across his broad shoulders as easily as if it were little Juniper.

 

“Thresh’s father was taken also,” she says, watching as he and another man get to work preparing the animals. “He came here with his grandma and sister not too long before we did.”

 

“He looks strong,” I say to Rue. Watching his muscles flex as he works on the deer, his brow furrowed in concentration, I definitely would not want to get on his bad side.

 

Rue shrugs. “Yeah, he’s big and strong. But like a lot of men like him, once you get to know him you see that he’s really just a softie.” I turn to her, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. “It’s true!” she insists. “Juniper loves him. He’ll carry her around on his shoulders sometimes, and the whole time she’s drumming on his head and squealing, and he’s just grinning because he loves it so much.”

 

I can’t help but laugh at that mental picture. It reminds me a lot of my father and Prim.

 

“C’mon,” Rue says, pulling on my hand. “I’ll introduce you to him.”

 

“Rue,” Thresh says, smiling at the girl who barely comes up to his elbows. Wiping his hands on a rag, he gathers her into a bear hug, lifting her up off the ground. “It’s so good to see you!”

 

“We’re glad you guys are finally back,” Rue says as Thresh sets her down. “Mom was starting to worry.” She pats my back. “We had some new people arrive while you were gone. This is Katniss, from District Twelve.”

 

I gulp as Thresh looks towards me. Up close he’s even larger and more intimidating. “Hello,” I say as I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Thresh nods, shaking my hand briefly. “You come alone from Twelve?”

 

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I came with my-, Peeta. With my friend, Peeta.” I point over to where Peeta’s threshing grain by the house. “He accidently killed a Peacekeeper, so we had to run.”

 

Thresh glances in Peeta’s direction. “Killed a Peacekeeper, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” I reply.

 

“Well, then he’s welcome here,” he says. “Looks like they’ve put you to work already.”

 

“Yes,” I say firmly. “I’ve been assisting Dot with the spinning and weaving. We’re no strangers to work in District Twelve.”

 

He nods, glancing over at Peeta one more time before turning back to the deer. “Nice to meet you, Twelve.”

 

“So,” Rue says as we slowly walk back towards the house. “Is it really true?”

 

“Is what really true?” I ask.

 

“That you and Peeta are only friends?” I must give her a weird look, because she continues. “I mean, I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and how you look at him, and it just seems like there’s more to it than just friendship.”

 

I bite my bottom lip as I shake my head. Rue takes one look at me and grabs my elbow, pulling me off to the side. “What is it, Katniss?”

 

“I thought he was dead,” I whisper. “There was a fire at the bakery, and I thought-” I break off as I choke down a sob. “Then one night about six months later, my cousins were out hunting and they found him, unconscious and injured in the woods.” I squeeze my eyes closed against the flood of memories of not knowing whether Peeta would live or succumb to the infection in his leg. “He almost died from the infection, and when he woke up, he couldn’t remember anything. Not his name, or where he lived, or even…”   
  


“Not even you?” Rue asks. She’s just as perceptive as my sister. 

 

I shake my head. “No. And after what happened with the Peacekeeper, it was just easier not to tell him.”

 

“But you weren't only friends before, right?” Rue asks. 

 

“No,” I say. “We were much more than friends. We-, we were going to toast together, once I turned eighteen. That’s our traditional wedding ceremony back in Twelve.”

 

Rue’s raises her eyebrows, her head tilting as she looks at me. “Well, if you ask me, he may not remember everything you had before, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still feel the same way.”

 

“No,” I protest. “He doesn’t-”

 

“I’m telling you, Katniss,” Rue interrupts. “I see the way he looks at you. It’s the same way my dad used to look at my mom, and if that’s not love, then…”

 

Sniffing, I swipe my hand across my eyes. I don’t want Peeta to see me crying. “It doesn’t matter,” I say as we start walking. “He doesn’t remember.”

 

* * *

According to Fern, the location of the camp is such that the winters don’t get below freezing too often, with snow falling only on a rare occasion, but still cool enough to require stocking up on food and other supplies just in case.

 

However, after a couple of particularly rough nights where Peeta’s nightmares wake us multiple times, I ask Fern if it would be okay for us to sleep outside in the back, hoping the fresh air will be comforting for him. Since she’s exhausted by the interruptions in her sleep as well, she readily agrees, and the first night we spend outside Peeta sleeps more soundly than he has in a long time.

 

Sleeping outside has an additional benefit. Away from other ears that may be listening, Peeta’s nightly questions become more bold, more specific in nature. He’s never pushy, always backing off if he senses that I’m uncomfortable, but while before his questions had a generality to them, now they are almost always regarding either his family or mine.

 

He asks about my parents, so I tell him their story. How my mother was engaged to someone else before meeting and falling in love with my father, leaving out the part that Peeta’s father was the someone else.

 

I tell him about the bakery, how he used to decorate the cakes that Prim and I loved to look at through the huge display window on our infrequent trips into town. I tell him about his family, how his father was always kind to me, and very generous with his trades. I tell him about his brothers, how his oldest brother married the daughter of the sweet shop owner and his middle brother was almost the spitting image of Peeta, save for a slight difference in his eye color that only someone close to either boy would recognize.

 

A couple of nights later I’m awakened by Peeta jerking suddenly in his sleep. I brace myself, hoping he’ll be able to settle himself back down, but he starts murmuring only seconds later.

 

“No,” he mumbles. “You need to get out.”

 

Propping myself up on my elbow, I gently shake his shoulder. “Peeta, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

 

“Get out!” he says, a little louder as he thrashes beneath my hand. “You need to get out!”

 

“Peeta!” I say as I cup his cheek, his whiskers tickling my palm. “Peeta, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

 

He sits up so abruptly he nearly knocks me over, his blue eyes frantic as he grabs my arm. “Katniss! They’re all dead! All of them! And it’s my fault!”

 

“No, Peeta,” I say firmly. I take his face in my hands, pressing our foreheads together. “It’s not your fault. Whoever’s dead, it’s not your fault.”

 

His grip on my arm tightens, and I can feel my skin bruising under his fingertips. “I killed them! They’re all dead! My family’s all dead because of me!”

 

“Peeta!” I say. “You didn’t kill them! There was a fire-”

 

“The fire was my fault!” he cries. “It’s all my fault!”

 

His eyes are like black pools, the pupils so dilated that the blue irises have all but vanished. His fingers digging into my arm feel as hard as metal. “No, Peeta, the bakery fire wasn’t your fault.”

 

He stares at me in disbelief, unblinking and shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be around me, Katniss. I shouldn’t be here.” He releases my arm, fisting his hand into his hair. “I’m a monster, a mutt, mutated and warped into some kind of-”

 

“Stop!” I say. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me at whoever did this to him, at whoever took my sweet, gentle Peeta and turned him into this. “You are Peeta Mellark. You’re almost eighteen years old. You’re from District Twelve. And you’re my-”

 

My throat catches before I can finish the sentence. I just can’t bring myself to say it, because friend is too small a word to describe what Peeta is to me. What we have, or had, went so beyond friendship that simply calling him my friend now is like pretending we never were. And I’m tired of pretending.

 

“I’m your what, Katniss?” Peeta asks. He’s fully awake now, looking at me with an expression so full of self-loathing the guilt nearly knocks me over. 

 

“You’re my-” I start, but again, I can’t finish the sentence, so I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss him full on the mouth.

 

Like our kiss in the woods, his lips are slack at first, unsure how to respond. Then his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him as his lips mold to mine. The kiss starts out tentative, then grows bolder as my fingers weave into his hair, holding him in place.

 

_ Oh, I have missed this! _

 

When the need to breathe becomes all-encompassing we reluctantly break apart, panting as we stare at each other. “Katniss,” Peeta whispers. “Why did you do that?”

 

I can see the blue of his eyes again, his pupils contracting back to something resembling normalcy. “Be-, because I-,” I stammer, gulping. “Because I love you.”

 

His eyebrows shoot up so high, they disappear under his hair. “You… what?”

 

It’s the exact same thing he said to me the first time I told him I loved him, and the realization hits me like an arrow to the chest. He is still my Peeta. No matter what he’s been through or who tried to change him, underneath all of it he’s still my Peeta, the boy who loved me. The boy who might still love me. And I won’t lie to him anymore.

 

So I tell him again. “I love you.”

 

He stares at me in anguished confusion for what seems like an eternity, and just when I’m ready to turn away his hands reach to cup my cheeks. “You love me,” he says. “Is that real?”

 

“Yes,” I murmur. “It’s real.”

 

His work-roughened thumbs brush across my cheekbones as a single tear rolls down his cheek. “I thought it was just my faulty memory. But you were never shiny, so I didn’t know.”

 

“Shiny?” I ask, catching the tear with my thumb. “What do you mean?”

 

Peeta nods, his head tilting into my hand. “Since we left District Twelve, I’ve had all these memory fragments flickering through my head. Of you and me. Of my home and my family. And some of them had this strange quality to them. Like they’d been glossed over.”

 

“Shiny,” I say. “Most likely altered in some way.”

 

“Yeah,” he says. “But none of the fragments of you were shiny. They all seemed real. But then you kept insisting that we were only friends, and I got confused, and-”

 

I press my lips to his again, swallowing the rest of his sentence. “I’m sorry,” I say between kisses. “I’m so sorry, Peeta. I was wrong to confuse you like that.”

 

“Katniss,” he rasps. “I need to tell you-” But I silence him again with another kiss, and another, and after a few attempts he gives up on talking. The sensation that I’d thought had gone dormant inside me flares to life, spreading from my chest, down my arms and legs and to the tips of my being. This is the hunger I’ve always associated with Peeta, and I have missed it desperately.

 

“We should try and get some more sleep,” he whispers when we finally break apart.

 

I nod, too breathless to speak as we lay back down. I turn my back to him but he grasps my shoulder, turning and positioning me so my head is lying on his chest.

 

“Is this okay?” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

 

I nod, burrowing as close to him as I can, intertwining our legs and tucking my hand under his arm to keep it warm. Yes, this is much better.

 

“Katniss?” he whispers into my hair.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

* * *

Although Peeta and I try not to be too obvious, it’s impossible to hide the change in our demeanor. Dot tells me almost as soon as I sit down at the loom the next morning that there’s something different about me, and Rue shoots us sly grins all evening as we eat supper around the fireplace. Even Fern gives us a knowing wink, as if to say, _ took you long enough. _

 

Peeta finishes building his oven a couple days later, and I nearly cry with joy the following day when he presents us with his first baked loaf of bread. Made with what he calls a sourdough starter, it tastes almost the same as the bread from his family’s bakery, and is a massive improvement over what we’re used to at the camp. After baking only two loaves, Peeta is officially assigned as the camp baker.

 

The weather remains mild enough that I start going hunting in the evenings after supper while Peeta entertains the smaller children with stories. Rue occasionally accompanies me, and even manages to kill a couple of fat geese with her slingshot to prepare for Peeta’s eighteenth birthday. Without an official calendar, it’s difficult to know the exact date, so we celebrate on one of our rest days instead, preparing the birds along with some of Peeta’s bread and vegetables from the garden. There’s even gifts for him; a new shirt that I wove and sewed myself, a razor from Thresh, a set of oven mitts made from the hide of a deer from Fern and Rue, and a pillow from the younger children, complete with lavender flowers sewn in between the layers to help keep him calm while he’s sleeping. 

 

And after everyone else has gone to sleep, we sit up by the moonlight outside and look through the sketchbook together. Peeta tells me what he can remember about each of the drawings, and I fill in the blanks.

 

Our lives are good. Of course I miss Prim and my mother, and Gale and the rest of the Hawthornes terribly. Peeta still has nights where he wakes up multiple times with nightmares, especially when we’re forced to sleep indoors due to rain. His leg still bothers him from time to time, when it’s especially cold or when he overexerts himself. 

 

But we are safe, we are loved, and we have each other. We are happy.

 

A few days after Peeta’s birthday celebration Rue and I head for the the woods after supper, as we’ve done on many an evening. We split up once we’re inside, with Rue taking position next to a tree to watch for birds as I start stalking a rabbit.

 

I can sense the emergence of danger even before I see it. I whip around, my bow loaded and ready just in time to see a spear fly through the air a few feet from me and embed its razor-sharp tip right into Rue’s midsection. A split-second later my arrow lands square in the neck of a tall, broad man with blond hair that I don’t recognize. He falls to his knees with a strangled gasp while I reload, circling around and shifting my aim while I shout at Rue. “Are there more? Are there more?”

 

“Katniss!” she cries, and I don’t realize right away how weak her cry sounds as the first knife whips towards my head. I’m able to deflect it with my bow but the movement knocks me off balance just enough for the second knife to catch me in the forehead. It grazes its blade above my right eyebrow, opening a gash that sends a gush of blood pouring down my face, running into my eye. I stumble backwards, screaming Peeta’s name as I send my arrow in the general direction of the assailant, knowing as soon as it leaves my hands that it will miss.

 

“Peeta!” I scream again as I run my hand across my forehead, finding it slick with blood, the metallic taste filling my mouth. The next thing I know the woman slams into me, knocking me flat on my back, pinning my shoulders to the ground with her knees.

 

“Where is he?” she demands, her brown eyes wild with rage. “Where are you hiding him?”

 

“Peeta!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I know I’m no match for this woman, who outweighs me by at least fifty pounds and is obviously a trained killer. “Peeta!”

 

The woman smirks as she opens her jacket, showing me the impressive array of knives tucked into their own individual slots. “You killed my partner, little girl, and that’s just not something that’s allowed.” She selects one knife, a large one with a serrated blade, and holds the tip to my throat as I squirm, helpless beneath her. “Hmm, you have some spunk to you, don’t you? Maybe we should’ve snagged you for the program instead of him. I doubt you would’ve gotten yourself into as much trouble as he has.” The tip of the knife presses into my skin. “Do you know how much trouble he’s caused? How many man-hours we’ve had to devote to finding him?” She leans closer, her nose a hair’s breadth away from my own. “Do you?”

 

With all the strength I possess, I spit a mouthful of blood and saliva directly onto her face. She flushes with rage as she twists the knife in her hand. “All right then, nevermind.”

 

I hold my breath, bracing myself for the agony that’s sure to follow. But as I feel the knife tip dig deeper into my flesh, a great force suddenly yanks the woman from my body. 

 

“Peeta!” I gasp as I roll onto my side, choking and spitting more blood from my mouth.

 

“Oh my God, Katniss,” Peeta says as he cradles my head, pressing his sleeve over the cut on my forehead. “Don’t move, love. Just stay still.”

 

“Watch out!” I rasp. “She’s after you!” But then my eyes land on the woman, her feet several inches off the ground as Thresh flings her over his shoulder, slamming her to the ground like a rag doll.

 

“You killed the little girl!” Thresh snarls, picking the woman up and slamming her down again. She scoots backward on all fours, like an insect. For all her bravado when she had me pinned down, she’s absolutely terrified now.

 

“My partner killed her!” the woman says, shaking her head. “She was a witness! We don’t leave any witnesses!”

 

“You pathetic piece of trash!” Thresh shouts. “She was only a little girl!”

 

“No, no, I’m fine,” I say weakly. I try to turn my head lying in Peeta’s lap but he holds me steady. “Rue needs help, Peeta. You need to help her.”

 

“Please stay still, Katniss,” Peeta says firmly. I can see tears welling in his blue eyes. “You’re bleeding badly.”

 

“He’s one of us!” the woman screams, pointing at Peeta. “It’s all his fault! I’m only following orders!”

 

From my spot on the ground I watch in horror as Thresh picks up a rock, about the size of a small loaf of bread, and brings it crashing down on the woman’s temple. My stomach rolls at the dent it makes in her skull. She gasps for breath two or three more times and then goes limp, her eyes still open in terror.

 

“Rue!” I say, trying to push up onto my elbows. Once again Peeta holds me steady, keeping his sleeve pressed to my head wound as a tear drops from his eye, landing on my cheek.

 

“She’s gone, Katniss,” he chokes out. “Rue’s gone. They killed her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter for me to write. :( Rue is one of my favorite characters in the first book, and it always makes me sad when she dies. 
> 
> As always, I welcome any and all comments! Please let me know what you think! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to thank titaniasfics and dandelionsunset for betaing this chapter for me! Be sure to check out their stories, both are amazing authors! :)

_ “Minister Antonius has asked for you, Mr. Crane,” Plutarch Heavensbee says from his terminal, one level below where Crane is standing. “He wishes to see you in his office in one hour’s time.” _

 

_ Heavensbee watches as Crane’s face blanches white under his dark beard. “Did the message say anything else?” he asks. _

 

_ “No, sir,” Heavensbee replies.  _

 

_ “Very well,” Crane says. “Thank you.” _

 

_ Heavensbee nods, turning his attention back to his monitor as Crane takes a long look around the Control Room, curious as to who the Minister will name as his replacement. One hour would not ordinarily be enough time to get all of his affairs in order, but, anticipating that this was coming sooner or later ever since Soldier Eighteen went AWOL, Crane had begun making appropriate arrangements several days ago. There were now only a couple of things left to take care of, which shouldn’t even require the use of the full hour Antonius had granted him. _

 

_ Picking up his telephone, he records one final message to his wife, advising her to keep her eyes and ears open. The Empire of Panem as a whole is on the decline, of this he is certain. A society based on the absolute rule of a corrupt police force and what basically amounts to as slave labor simply cannot exist for such an extended period of time; history has proven that over and over. The fact that President Snow and the people in his inner circle refuse to acknowledge such history will not prevent it from repeating itself, and Crane feels that it’s only a matter of time before the entire system comes crumbling down, crushing everything in its path. _

 

_ Exactly forty-five minutes later he knocks on the door to the Minister’s outer office. He knows he is a few minutes early, but punctuality has always been important to him, and he sees no reason to prolong the inevitable. _

 

_ A secretary ushers him in to a small room off to the left. Minister Antonius sits in a leather chair, his elbows propped up on the mahogany armrests and his hands steepled under his chin. On a small table in front of him rests a magnificent crystal bowl filled about halfway with dark purple, round berries. Crane recognizes them instantly as nightlock berries, the preferred method of execution for political prisoners who are no longer useful. _

 

_ Crane clears his throat, his back ramrod straight. He’d taken the time to dress in a fresh uniform, trimming his beard and arranging his hair prior to his arrival. There’s no sense in going out looking like he deserves it. _

 

_ “You wanted to see me, sir?” he says in a clear voice, even as his hands begin to tremble, clasped behind the small of his back.  _

 

_ Minister Antonius only nods, gesturing towards the crystal bowl. “From what I understand, Mr. Crane, the nightlock is quite painless.” _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Crane replies. “That is my understanding as well.” _

 

_ “Very well,” the Minister says, getting to his feet. “I trust all your affairs are in order?” _

 

_ Crane nods. “Yes, sir.” _

 

_ “Then I’ll leave you to it,” Antonius says as he crosses to the heavy door. He pauses with his hand on the brass doorknob. “You have five minutes.” Then he opens the door and steps out of the room. _

 

_ As the lock slides into place, Crane leans forward, studying the berries. To an untrained eye they would appear to be common blueberries, so similar in size and shape as to provoke an unsuspecting and perhaps starving soul into feasting on them, causing death before the first mouthful even reaches the stomach. Developed and grown initially during the Dark Days rebellion, patches of them still exist in the no-man’s lands between the district borders, and of course, in the carefully controlled and closely guarded garden located next to the Training Center. _

 

_ He picks up one of the berries, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. The unfairness of it all hits him like a sledgehammer, and the trembling in his hand increases to such an intensity that he nearly drops the berry. It’s not his fault that the initial retrieval was botched in District 12, resulting in the destruction of both the bakery and half of the neighborhood they term the Seam. It’s not his fault that Soldier Eighteen was so resistant to their training techniques. It’s not his fault that Eighteen was deployed before Crane believed him to be ready. It’s not his fault that the Minister insisted on sending Eighteen to acquire a target of such high priority when there were other, more appropriate choices available. And it’s not his fault that while en route to his target, Eighteen seemingly disrupted a tracker jacker nest, with the resulting stings raising his heart rate and blood pressure to such high levels that they effectively shorted out his tracker. _

 

_ None of this is his fault. He knows it, and Minister Antonius knows it. _

 

_ But regardless of fault, someone has to take the blame for this fiasco. For the target assigned to Soldier Eighteen had been unique, and so therefore classified at the highest level of importance. And any delay in the removal of such a target required someone to be punished. Crane had seen it before.  _

 

_ And this time, it’s his turn. _

 

_ Crane glances at the clock, seeing that he has three minutes left. Always one for being punctual, he takes the berry in his hand, takes a deep breath, and slowly places it into his mouth. _

 

* * *

__

_ “Mr. Heavensbee?” Antonius says as he walks into the Control Room. _

 

_ “Yes, sir?” Heavensbee replies, standing to his feet and tapping his fist twice over his heart.  _

 

_ Antonius smiles. The formal salute had not been commonly seen around the Control Room while Seneca Crane was in charge. He should’ve promoted this Heavensbee a long time ago. _

 

_ “Head Trainer Crane has become… indisposed,” Antonius says. “You are therefore promoted to the position of Head Trainer in his stead, effective immediately.” _

 

_ Heavensbee smiles, bowing slightly as he repeats the salute. “Thank you for this great honor, Minister,” he says. “I will not let you down.” _

 

_ “Yes, yes,” the Minister replies. “Now, what is the next step regarding Soldier Eighteen?” _

 

_ Heavensbee turns to a monitor, tapping a few keys on the keyboard. “From the information we’ve been able to gather from the Careers’ trackers before they were killed, it appears that Eighteen has someone working with him. We have not been able to identify this person, or people as of yet, but we are almost certain that he is not working alone at this point.” _

 

_ Antonius’s jaw twitches. This is one reason why he has implored President Snow on numerous occasions to install cameras throughout the districts. The benefits of being able to observe the actions of any chosen citizen at any given time would more than outweigh the initial costs of such a venture. If only the President would take some time and funds away from his endless perusals of entertainment and pleasure to actually make a real political decision from time to time… _

 

_ Well, that is the main reason why this program exists in the first place. _

 

_ “I see,” Antonius says. “What is Eighteen’s current projected location?” _

 

_ “About fifty miles west of District Eight, sir,” Heavensbee replies. “But we also believe that he will be on the move following the altercation with the Careers, along with any suspected companion.” _

 

_ “Yes, that makes sense.” Antonius taps his lips, pursed thin in thought. _

 

_ “If I may, sir?” Heavensbee asks, cautiously. “Is it worth the resources? To keep pursuing him? Would it not be more prudent to simply send another Soldier to acquire the target?” _

 

_ If it were any other trainer that had asked such a ridiculous question, Antonius would have ordered his execution without hesitation. But there’s something about this Heavensbee fellow, something that leads the Minister to believe that he genuinely wishes the best for his country. That his actions and beliefs are aligned directly with his own. Such as that is, he will give Heavensbee the benefit of the doubt. This time. _

 

_ “Perhaps,” he replies, tapping his baton with his left hand. “But it is a matter of principle now, would you not agree, Mr. Heavensbee?” _

 

_ “Of course, sir,” Heavensbee says. “Please forgive me. I was only trying to conserve our valuable resources.” _

 

_ Antonius nods. “That is admirable.” His finger taps against his lips again. “What is the current status of Soldier Seventeen?” _

 

_ Heavensbee raises his bushy eyebrows as he nods in the direction of another trainer, who pulls Seventeen’s information up on his monitor. “He has just returned from a successful mission to District Two, sir. He is currently in recovery.” _

 

_ “Hmm,” Antonius says. “With the close proximity of District Two, he should not require an extensive recovery period.” He nods once at Heavensbee. “I want him briefed and ready to deploy in three days.” He leans over the monitor, tapping a series of keys. “It is likely that Eighteen will travel north, as there is an extensive no-man’s land northeast of District Twelve. Have Seventeen sent in that direction once he has been properly prepared.” _

 

_ Heavensbee nods, tapping his fist over his heart. “Yes, sir. It will be done.” _

 

* * *

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of the wooden building gently pulls me toward consciousness. A small groan escapes my throat as I turn my head, wincing at the ache the simple movement provokes. I’m lying on some sort of a straw-stuffed mattress, and I can hear the sound of someone coughing on the other side of the room. A hand strokes my cheek, the touch gentle despite the roughness of the skin.

 

“Katniss.” Peeta’s voice is raspy, like it gets when he’s upset or tired. “Please, love, don’t move too much yet.”

 

As my eyes flutter open, Peeta’s face slides into view. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” he replies softly. “It’s good to see your eyes again.”

 

“How long have I been out?” I ask, my throat scratchy and dry. “And where are we?”

 

“About a day,” he whispers. He leans down to kiss my cheek before taking my hand. “We’re in the healer’s building. Just rest now, Katniss, and let me take care of you for once. You lost a lot of blood.”

 

Gingerly, I lift my other hand up to my forehead, finding it stitched and bandaged. The simple gesture leaves me dizzy. “Thirsty.”

 

Peeta brings a water bottle to my lips, allowing me to drink until I signal I’ve had enough. “Rest now, love,” he says. “I’m here with you.”

 

I close my eyes again, and almost instantly the memories of what happened yesterday come flooding back. “Rue!”

 

Peeta’s hand clenches hard around my fingers as he brings it to his lips. “She’s dead, Katniss,” he croaks. “She’s dead, and you almost died, and it’s all my fault.”

 

“No, Peeta,” I protest. “It’s not — ”

 

“But we’re not gonna talk about it now,” he says firmly, placing his fingers over my lips to shush me. “You need to rest and get better first.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Peeta,” I say as I blink back tears. “You didn’t kill her.”

 

“No,” he whispers. “But it’s still my fault. And I’m going to make sure nothing like it ever happens again.”

 

* * *

The rain lasts for three days, and it’s another three days before the ground is dry enough to dig a grave. Peeta stays with me in the healer’s building the entire time, feeding me bits of rabbit and dried berries, making sure I drink plenty of water, holding me through the night so I don’t get cold. But even for all his attentiveness, I can tell something is wrong. His eyes have reacquired that clouded look they held before we arrived here. He wakes often from nightmares, mumbling about how he’s become a piece in someone’s elaborate game. He holds me so tightly at night that it’s almost hard to breathe, like he’s afraid I’ll be snatched away if he loosens his grip even a fraction of an inch.

 

The day Rue is laid to rest is overcast and windy. Fern and her children have used these past several days to prepare her body for burial, anointing it with herbs and dressing her in a special burial gown. Her hair has been washed and lies in ringlets around her face, her eyes closed peacefully and her hands resting over her abdomen, covering the horrible wound that killed her.

 

Rue is buried about a hundred yards away from the house. As we gather around the simple, shallow grave, Fern hands us each a blossom of Sweet Alyssum that we place around Rue’s body, so that once we’re finished, she looks to be simply taking a nap on a bed of flowers.

 

Thresh steps up to say a few words, but I’m too upset for them to register. While neither he nor Fern has said anything to Peeta and me, I know it must be very difficult for them to look at us right now.

 

“Bye, Rue,” I whisper as the first handful of dirt is thrown into the grave. Peeta and I stand, with him holding me up, until she’s completely covered and gone. Then I press the three middle fingers of my left hand against my lips and hold them out in her direction. It’s an old and rarely used gesture from District 12, really only seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

 

Once the small crowd has dissipated, Fern turns to look at us, holding small Juniper in her arms, her large brown eyes wet with tears, her face etched in sorrow. “You’ll come home,” she says.

 

It’s a statement, not a question, and it nearly knocks the wind out of me. I feel Peeta’s arm go rigid around my waist as he realizes it too. With a simple, three word sentence, she’s telling us that she forgives us. That she wants us to stay. 

 

_ You’ll come home.  _ Because this is our home now.

 

“Yes,” I answer.

 

Fern nods, swiping at her eyes before reaching for Aster’s hand. “Come, then.”

 

No one speaks very much as we work together to prepare supper. I can’t help but look towards the door from time to time, expecting to see Rue come bursting in with her dress pockets full of leaves and blossoms from foraging, or perhaps carrying a couple of grooslings that she’s shot with her slingshot. But she never appears.

 

After supper is finished we get ready for bed. My energy level is still low from my head wound, and no one else in the house has slept well since Rue’s death. Peeta and I set up our sleeping bag in the far corner, the ground still too cold and wet for us to sleep outside. He pulls my back against his chest, locking his arm around my waist. His lips graze the back of my neck as he breathes in deeply.

 

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

 

“Your hair smells good,” he whispers. “I want to remember it.”

 

Normally a compliment like that would cause the butterflies to start racing around in my belly. But tonight, instead of making me smile, the tone of his voice fills me with dread. A combination of fear, resignation, and sorrow.

 

Rolling over to face him, I run my fingers along his jaw, noticing that he needs to shave again. “Peeta — ”

 

“Shh,” he replies, turning his head to kiss my palm. “It’s okay, Katniss. Just go to sleep.”

 

“But — ” I get out before his lips press against mine, warm and slightly chapped.

 

“Please,” he says when we break apart. “It’s okay, Katniss. Just go to sleep. You need your rest.”

 

The feeling of dread doesn’t go away the next morning. If anything, it intensifies. Peeta tries to hide it, but I can tell that the guilt and pain over Rue’s death is eating him up inside. His smiles no longer reach his eyes. He no longer tells the younger children stories before bedtime. And he no longer looks anyone in the eye when they speak to him. It reminds me of when he would come to school with a freshly blackened eye. The first couple days after each one, his entire personality would be different.

 

Peeta’s nightmares have also ramped up to a terrifying level. Where before they would interrupt our sleep maybe once or twice during the night, since Rue’s death they have increased both in number and intensity to such a degree that on the nights we’re forced to stay indoors, no one in the house is able to get much sleep. Nearly every hour he jerks awake, shaking and covered in sweat. He clings to my shoulders, begging me to make them stop hurting him, or pleading with faceless people to either let him go or let him die.

 

It’s both heartbreaking and horrifying to witness. 

 

During the daytime he barely lets me out of his sight, as if he’s afraid that if he can’t see me, it means I’ve disappeared. I haven’t gone hunting since the attack, and while we have enough food for the winter and plenty of other chores to do, the lack of the calming effect the woods always has on me is making me even more restless and irritable.

 

The camp healer removes the stitches from my head wound about a week later, pronouncing me healed as long as I don’t try to do too much right away. That evening when I announce to Peeta that I’m going hunting after supper, he grabs onto my arm, begging me not to go. 

 

“Please, Katniss!” he pleads. “The woods are dangerous! It would kill me if anything happened to you again!”

 

“I’m not going to get hurt!” I say, trying to keep my voice level. I can feel the scowl marring my face. “I just need to get out there for a bit. I’m restless, Peeta.”

 

His jaw clenches as he stares at me. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Then I’m coming with you.”

 

I huff out an impatient breath. “Fine.”

 

Our trip is brief, as I find that once we’re out in the woods, Peeta’s watchfulness makes it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on stalking anything. I only manage to shoot two of Rue’s grooslings, and while it’s not a bad haul for my first time since the attack, it doesn’t do very much to curb my restless feeling.

 

Later that night, after we’ve tucked ourselves into the sleeping bag, Peeta spends a long time studying my face. His blue eyes bore into mine while his fingers slowly trace my forehead, down my nose to my chin and over the column of my throat. Then he leans down to kiss me, cupping my face in his hands.

 

“I love you, Katniss,” he whispers. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that.” He plants a light kiss on the tip of my nose. “Even when I didn’t know who I was, or where I was from, I always knew that I loved you.”

 

Once again, words that should make me smile cause me to shiver instead. I weave my fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss. “Hey,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

The corners of his mouth curve into a slight smile. “I know,” he says. “I just needed to tell you that.”

 

Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. A visit with my father in the woods. Looking at the beautifully decorated cakes through the bakery window with Prim. Tonight it sends me Rue, decked out in her flowers, walking through the woods with me, trying to teach me the words to one of her songs. She looks beautiful, with no sign of her wounds, and singing in a clear, melodic voice.

 

Then the dream shifts and I’m with Peeta. My head is lying in his lap and he’s running his fingers through my hair, a look of pure adoration on his face as he gazes down at me. There’s no cloudiness, no underlying fear or uncertainty in his eyes. This must be before he was taken. A slight breeze blows his hair across his forehead, and I reach up to brush it away, laughing as he catches my hand and presses my palm to his lips.

 

“I love you, Katniss,” he says. “Don’t ever forget that.”

 

“I won’t,” I say. “I promise.”

 

The morning dawns overcast and chilly. I can picture the somber grey clouds gathering in the sky, threatening more rain. I roll over, seeking the warmth of Peeta’s body but finding myself alone in the sleeping bag. He often rises before me to start the fire in his oven, so while I’m disappointed to find him already up, I’m not surprised. I linger a few more minutes, inhaling the smell of bread that permeates through the sleeping bag before sitting up to stretch.

 

Around me the children are bustling about, doing their morning chores. Poppy is at her usual spot by the fireplace, preparing our porridge for breakfast. Aster and her brother Cypress are folding the blankets and furs, and Calla is tickling Juniper under her chin while Fern changes her diaper. It seems like a normal, everyday morning.

 

I grab my clothes, dressing under the cover of the sleeping bag as I usually do. I hope the rain is able to hold off. We’ve already had plenty of it this week, and I’d much prefer to work on the weaving and laundry outdoors rather than in, where there’s only the light of the fire to work by.

 

“Good morning, Katniss,” Poppy says as she hands me a bowl of porridge. Her eyes are downcast and somber this morning. Maybe the gloomy weather is affecting her too.

 

“Thank you,” I say as I accept the bowl, wishing Peeta was here to speak up. I am so woefully inadequate at finding the right words to say in situations like this. “Did Peeta eat already?”

 

Poppy doesn’t reply, only nodding as she moves back over to the fireplace. She scrubs a tear from her cheek as she picks up her own bowl.

 

“Miss Katniss?” Aster says as she skips across the floor over to where I’m sitting. “You’re not gonna leave us too, are you?”

 

The first spoonful of porridge sticks in my throat as Peeta’s words from last night come rushing back.  _ No matter what happens, Katniss, I want you to know that I love you. _

 

Oh my God. It’s why he said all those things last night. It’s why I dreamed about him, telling me never to forget him.

 

“Where’s Peeta?” I choke out, startling little Aster with the force of my request. I turn to Poppy, looking at me from the fireplace. “Where is he?”

 

But Poppy only shakes her head, her face crumpling as she looks over at her mother. 

 

“Where is Peeta?” I ask again, my voice rising with my increasing panic. I drop my bowl onto the floor, racing out the back door of the tiny house to the bread oven, built stone for stone by Peeta’s own hands. But instead of finding him there, kneading dough or stoking the fire, the oven sits empty, a useless lump of rocks without the baker to bring it to life.

 

“No!” I collapse down to my knees next to the oven, placing my palms against the top, willing it to be warm, as if Peeta has just gone to fetch more wood. But it’s cold, so very cold that it leeches all the warmth from my body. I immediately start to shiver, the hysteria rising up inside of me. I ball up the front of my shirt, stuff it into my mouth, and begin to scream. I scream until my head starts to throb along the knife cut, then curl into a tight ball on my side.

 

He’s gone.

 

_ How could you leave me again? _

 

“How could you leave me again?” I cry into the air. As the echo of my voice fades into the grey clouds, a wave of guilt washes over me, nearly drowning me with its intensity. I was cross with him yesterday when he wanted me to stay out of the woods. He was only trying to protect me, and I threw it back in his face, insisting on going hunting anyway.

 

_ I’m so sorry, Peeta. I’m so sorry! _

 

“Katniss?” Fern’s voice, calm and gentle, startles me nonetheless. She kneels down and reaches for my hand. “Honey, come back to the house.”

 

“How could you let him leave here!” I scream at her, not caring whether or not the children overhear me. “He’ll die out there on his own!”

 

Fern’s chin starts to shake as tears stream down her face. “It’s what he wanted,” she says. “He wanted to leave, because he was afraid if he stayed that you’d still be in danger. That we’d all be in danger.” She chokes on a sob. “He said he didn’t want anyone else to die because of him. Especially you. He said he couldn’t live with himself if anything else happened to you.”

 

A horrible pain seizes my chest, causing me to double over as I choke. Fern wraps her arms around me and pulls me into her lap, holding me tightly against her and stroking my back. She’s right, of course. Peeta and I are indirectly responsible for Rue’s death. I am likely much safer if I remain here. But I fear the only thing Peeta will accomplish out there on his own is getting himself killed, and that is something I cannot allow. If he dies, I’ll never leave this hell I’m living in without him. I’ll be damaged beyond repair.

 

“I need to go after him,” I say. “He won’t make it too far on his own, not with his leg the way it is.” I breathe in a shaky breath. “They’ll be looking for him. I need to protect him.”

 

I feel Fern’s chin against my neck as she nods. “I understand.” She nudges me off of her lap, pulling me to my feet. “We will help you prepare.”

 

“I want to leave now,” I say as she tugs me back into the house. “I can’t let him get too far ahead — ”

 

“No,” Fern says in her motherly voice. “You’ll leave in the morning. You need to prepare your supplies; food, water, clothing. You need to say goodbye to everyone. You need a good night’s rest before you leave.” She grasps my elbows, looking down at me. “Let us help you, Katniss.”

 

My lower lip shakes as various thoughts tumble around in my brain. The kindness of this woman, who’s lost not only her husband but her oldest child, astounds me. This is what the Peacekeepers try to beat or starve out of us. The willingness to help others, even at great cost to yourself, is so rare in the districts that I’ve only seen it a handful of times. In Prim. In Madge. And in Peeta.

 

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

 

“Good,” Fern says, nodding. She walks us back inside the house, ordering Poppy to begin prepping food for me. Cypress is sent to the stream to fill my water bottles, and little Aster selects a fur blanket for me to take, since Peeta took his thermal blanket with him. Peeta didn’t take his bow or set of arrows, so after refilling my quiver I decide to leave the rest behind, as a remembrance of us.

 

We’re finishing cleaning up after supper when Thresh knocks on the door, asking to speak to me.

 

“Yes?” I say timidly, refusing to meet his eyes. We still haven’t spoken since Rue’s death.

 

Conflicting emotions cross Thresh’s face. “Look,” he says. “I know you weren’t directly responsible for Rue.”

 

At the mention of Rue’s name, a sob wrenches its way from my throat. “Yeah.”

 

Thresh inhales a sharp breath, his shoulders sagging as he exhales. “She would’ve wanted me to help you, Twelve. You were like the older sister she never had.”

 

I shake my head, tears threatening to spill over. “Thresh, I’m sorry! We never meant — ”

 

“I know that,” Thresh says, raising his hand. “But you need to know what you’re running into.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “Those marks on Peeta’s neck, Katniss, those people that attacked you and Rue, they had the same marks. We saw them when we burned their bodies. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I don’t think it means anything good.”

 

I let out a piercing sound, somewhere between a squeak and a cry. I think deep down I’d already suspected, based on what Gale said the night we left District 12, and what that horrible woman said to me while she had me pinned down. But hearing it confirmed makes it seem more real. “Does Peeta know? Did you tell him?”

 

“Yes,” Thresh answers.

 

“It’s why he left!” I shriek. “He thinks he’s some sort of monster! You drove him away!”

  
  
“No, he was already planning to leave,” Thresh says, his voice raising slightly. “All I did was confirm suspicions.” 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s not like them. Whatever those awful people tried to do to him, it didn’t work. He doesn’t remember.”

 

Thresh’s eyebrows wrinkle in frustration. “Well, you obviously know Peeta better than I do. And I know you’ll do whatever you want to do anyway, no matter what I say.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “But I want you to be careful. Try to be objective. Because once you find him, he might not be the same person you knew before.”

 

Stubbornly, I shake my head again. “No. It didn’t work. They couldn’t change him. I know it.”

 

Thresh sighs, pursing his lips. “All right.” He reaches around to his back, pulling something from his waistband wrapped in a cloth and handing it to me. I open the cloth to find a knife, with a serrated blade on one side and a carved wooden handle. It’s the knife that woman held to my throat before Thresh pulled her off of me.

 

“Thought that might come in handy,” Thresh says.

 

“Yes,” I say quietly, humbled by the gift. It is a beautifully designed knife, and one I know that would be useful to Thresh for hunting. “Thank you.”

 

Thresh nods his head once. “Good luck then, Twelve.”

 

I watch him go before making my way back into the house. Carefully placing the knife in my bag, I sit down on top of the sleeping bag. The children are ready for bed.

 

“Tell us a story, please, Miss Katniss?” Aster says, crawling into my lap. “We miss Mr. Peeta’s stories.” 

 

“Okay,” I reply, thinking. There’s really only one good story that I know. “There once was a young girl, who thought she’d lost everything. Her father had disappeared — ”

 

“Like Daddy,” Aster says, pouting.

 

“Yes, just like your Daddy,” I say, hugging her close. “And this little girl was so sad, because her Momma was sick, and she and her little sister were hungry. There was no food at their house.”

 

“So what did she do?” Aster asks, her eyes wide.

 

“Well, she was ready to give up,” I continue. “All of her strength was gone, there was no one to help her. Until one rainy day a boy came to her, he was the baker’s son, and he gave her some bread. And she took the bread, and she brought it home to feed her mother and sister, and after a while they both were well again.”

 

“And the girl?” Aster asks. “What about her?”

 

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to keep the tears contained. “The girl? She fell in love with the boy. Because he was kind, and generous, and handsome, and he loved her.”

 

“Mmm, then she could have all the bread she wanted,” Aster says. “Yummy.”

 

I bury my nose into Aster’s hair, smelling the faint scent of the flowers we placed around Rue in her grave. “It’s time for sleep now, sweet girl. Tomorrow I have to go away for a while.”

 

She looks up at me, sadness radiating from her huge brown eyes. “I know. Mommy told me. You need to go find Mr. Peeta.”

 

“Yes,” I whisper. “He needs me, so I need to find him.”

 

With a final hug, Aster scurries off to her floor mat, waving as her mother covers her with her fur.

 

As I tuck myself down into the sleeping bag, my mind wanders back to that day, that horrible day when I collapsed in the rain. I remember the overwhelming fatigue, the overwhelming fear that I’d failed my sister. The overwhelming wish to simply fade away into oblivion. But then those two loaves of bread landed at my feet, and we were saved.

 

Peeta gave me hope when I had none. I need to do the same for him.

 

I try to sleep, knowing I’ll need the rest for the journey ahead, but it’s impossible. The best I’m able to do is occasionally doze, only to be woken by the sound of Peeta’s voice, telling me to never forget him.

 

At the first light of dawn I sit up, dressing quickly and going over my supplies. I’d intended to leave before anyone else awoke, but Fern sees me preparing and rouses the children to say goodbye. She pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair like my mother used to before my father was taken. I soak up the embrace, knowing it’s likely the last time I’ll feel something like this. “Goodbye, Katniss,” she whispers.

 

“Goodbye,” I answer. I hug each of the children in turn, ending with little Juniper, who wraps her chubby toddler arms around my neck and squeezes.

 

“Kitty,” she says, rubbing her nose on my shoulder. “Love, Kitty.”

 

“Goodbye, baby girl,” I whisper, handing her back to Fern as tears roll down my cheeks. Poppy hands me my game bag, packed to the brim with food, water, clothing, the sleeping bag, and the sketchbook.

 

Then I step out of the back door, placing my hand on the stone oven once more as I pass it, heading towards the woods.

 

_ Wait for me, Peeta. I’m coming for you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always anxious to hear what you think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left me comments and kudos! I appreciate your support more than you know! :) I need to thank Titaniasfics and DandelionSunset for betaing this chapter for me! Please be sure to check out their stories, both are incredible authors! :)
> 
> Those of you who read my story Practice Run may recall that Katniss and Peeta attend a Minnesota Vikings game while on their honeymoon. During that game, Katniss tells Peeta that no team has ever played in the Super Bowl when it has been played in their home stadium. Well... yesterday the Vikings came one step closer to doing just that, with an amazing, last-ditch win over the Saints. If you haven't yet heard about or seen the game-winning play, I highly encourage you to check it out. It was incredible. I still haven't gotten my voice back.
> 
> Now then, onto the story... ;)

_Plutarch Heavensbee waves his identification badge in front of the panel next to the Control Room door. As it unlocks with a loud buzzing sound, he steps into the large white and blue circular room, surveying the work of the six trainers on duty._

 

_He doesn’t often arrive in the Control Room this early, as the night shift is usually quiet enough to render close supervision unnecessary. But with the situation in District 12 reaching a critical level, and the search for Soldier Eighteen growing more desperate by the day, he wants to make sure all the pieces to the plan are in place before things are set into motion that will be difficult to control._

 

_“Give me the rundown,” he commands the trainer to his right._

 

_“Yes, sir,” the trainer replies. “The curfew in District Twelve has been strictly enforced, with Peacekeeper Thread reporting no issues during the night. There was a slight scuffle in District Four between three Peacekeepers and several District citizens, which was quickly resolved with few injuries and no deaths. As a result, Soldier Fifteen was deployed to District Four approximately one hour ago. His mission is expected to take approximately seven days.”_

 

_“Very well,” Plutarch says. That can be taken care of easily. “Continue.”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” the trainer says. “Soldier Thirteen was also deployed overnight, on a mission to District Seven. His mission is expected to take between seven and ten days.” He looks down, unease spreading across his heavily jowled face._

 

_“Yes?” Plutarch implores. “What else?”_

 

_“Ah,” the trainer says sheepishly, clearing his throat. “There will be a slight delay in the deployment of Soldier Seventeen, the recovery asset for Eighteen. Reports indicate a blizzard moving in over the area between Districts Twelve and Thirteen. High winds and heavy snowfalls will make travel by foot nearly impossible for at least three or four days.”_

 

_Plutarch smirks. Nothing like the weather to interfere with perfectly laid plans. “I see,” he says. “Very well. Make sure Seventeen’s level of readiness is maintained, and have him deployed as soon as the weather system breaks.”_

 

_The trainer nods, breathing a sigh of relief. “Yes, sir.”_

 

_“Anything else?” Plutarch asks. Weather delays are indeed frustrating, but at least they affect both sides equally. If the blizzard is as strong as his subordinate indicates, then they will have several more days to continue to formulate their plan._

 

_“Yes, sir,” the trainer answers. “Minister Antonius will be out of his office for the day, something about his son and a performance at his school, his wife was most insistent that he accompany her. He wished for me to pass along the message, and also to let you know that he’ll want your opinion on who to deploy to District Twelve.”_

 

_Blinking, Plutarch asks, “District Twelve?”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” the trainer says, confused. “Soldier Eighteen’s original target?”_

 

_“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” Plutarch replies, smirking once again to hide his surprise. “Thank you. Send me the information on the target. I will look over the available assets and give my recommendation shortly.” He watches as the trainer turns back to his monitor, then heads to his own control panel one level above, typing a passcode into the keypad. A box appears on the screen, into which Plutarch enters a series of keystrokes. To a casual observer they would appear to be gibberish, nothing more than dots and dashes, a form of communication that has been long forgotten by most people._

 

_DELAY DUE TO WEATHER. WILL ADVISE._

 

_Several seconds later a reply appears._

 

_UNDERSTOOD. BE AWARE, 18 IS PRESUMED NOT ALONE. AGENT REPORTS DISAPPEARANCE OF ONE KATNISS EVERDEEN FOLLOWING DEATH OF PEACEKEEPER IN DISTRICT 12._

 

_Plutarch’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise, then knit together in thought as he looks over to his subordinate._

 

_“Excuse me, Mr… ” he says, not at the moment remembering the man’s name. “Do you have the name of Eighteen’s original target for me?”_

 

_“It’s Felix, sir,” the trainer replies, nodding. “And yes, I’m pulling that information up right now for you.” Felix taps a few keys, then squints closer at his screen. “The name of the target is--”_

 

_“Send it to this monitor, please, if you will,” Plutarch interrupts. Minister Antonius has never allowed the names of the targets to be spoken aloud in the Control Room, and Plutarch sees no need to challenge that policy._

 

_“Yes, sir,” Felix replies, his face flushing red as he taps furiously on his keyboard. “I’m sorry, sir.”_

 

_Plutarch smiles in response before glancing down at his monitor, his eyes widening as he reads the information Felix sent._

 

_“Well, well, well,” he mumbles to himself. “If this doesn’t make things a bit more interesting.” His eyes trail around the room, noting the trainers working diligently at their stations before typing in an additional message._

 

_POSSIBLE ASSET PENDING IN 12. INFORM AGENT._

 

_As before, the reply appears a few seconds later._

 

_UNDERSTOOD. WILL INFORM AND MONITOR._

 

_Plutarch nods, and with a couple of keystrokes the box on the screen disappears. Leaning back in his chair, he starts tapping his chin, deep in thought. This new information could be very useful if it is used correctly, as, unless he is mistaken, Katniss Everdeen is likely the daughter of one of the original District 12 targets._

 

_An accomplice would also help to explain Eighteen’s apparent ease in disposing of the assets sent to recover him. Making a couple of mental notes to further investigate this Katniss Everdeen, he pulls his chair closer to the desk, fighting the urge to rest his feet on the gleaming surface. With the Minister out of the office he wouldn’t likely be caught, but it is still better to set a good example for the rest of the staff._

 

_It does bother him greatly that he had not anticipated Antonius’s desire to send a replacement Soldier into the poor, coal-mining district, especially with the current Peacekeeper crackdown. If this plan is to succeed, every single possibility must be thought through and planned for, and with Antonius’s obsession with locating Eighteen, the target Eighteen was originally deployed to capture had completely slipped his mind._

 

_Tapping another command into his keypad, Plutarch scans the list of the available assets. There’s Gloss, another favorite of Minister Antonius, left over from the days when he was Head Trainer. Soldier Fourteen, who recently returned from a mission in District 5, and Soldier Sixteen, who has only recently recovered from a nearly-botched mission to District 10. It would be within protocol to deploy Sixteen, as he has had the minimum requirement of seven days for rest and recovery, but instead Plutarch chooses Gloss. With his close relationship to the Minister, it will strike an even harsher blow to the program when he is defeated, as Brutus was defeated. Because District 12, being the smallest and seemingly the weakest of the districts, cannot afford to lose any more people who are sympathetic to the cause._

 

_Satisfied, Plutarch taps the order for Gloss’s preparation and deployment into his keypad, then sits back in his chair, contemplating various scenarios on how the District 12 people can get rid of him. The timing will have to coincide with Eighteen’s recovery, because that crucial step will blow the whole thing wide open, including his cover, and once that happens he will have little to no control over how the rest of the events unfold._

 

_And being the Head Trainer, he is used to being in control._

 

* * *

 

I’m about an hour into the woods when I stop, kicking myself for not thinking this through better. In my haste to get going I automatically started trekking north, not even considering the possibility that Peeta could’ve gone due west, or even south, towards District 11. For all I know, we could be heading in exact opposite directions.

 

That thought nearly overwhelms me with panic, so I try to push it out of my head. Peeta took the map Gale gave us with him, but from what I can remember of it, it would make the most sense for Peeta to head northeast, towards the wasteland beyond District 12. It’s one of the largest open areas in the country, surrounding the still-smoking ruins of what used to be District 13, and so the easiest to hide in while staying on the move.

 

My pace is steady as I walk, brisk but not so fast as to tire myself out too quickly. I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to rest out here in the open, with both natural predators and potential human predators out searching for Peeta. It’s even possible that whatever organization is responsible for Peeta’s captivity has come to the conclusion that he’s not working alone. I could be being stalked myself at this very moment.

 

To help keep myself calm and pass the time, I start to hum one of Rue’s songs, listening as the Mockingjays pick up the notes and mimic them. But soon it seems like the entire woods is alive with song, and it hits me then that if someone is stalking me, I’ve pretty much just handed them my position. To counteract my blunder I pause to light a fire, hoping the smoke will throw any potential follower off my scent.

 

A few hours later twilight starts to close in, the hazy grey sky of oncoming winter turning an even darker, more ominous-looking grey. Disappointed at my lack of progress, I start another fire while scanning the area, looking for any sign that might indicate a recent traveler. The trees around here are too thin to offer much cover, and the layer of pine needles that muffles my footsteps is only going to make it more difficult to track Peeta.

 

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening. I don’t feel comfortable breaking into my stash of food yet, so instead I take my knife and cut away the tough, outer bark of a pine tree, scraping a large handful of the softer, inner bark to chew on. After all the delicious food at the camp it’s a little hard to choke down, but at least it halts the hunger pains. I chase it down with a couple gulps of water, satisfied for the time being.

 

Another hour of walking and I decide to call it a night. I can hear the occasional growl or hoot, indicating that the nocturnal hunters are coming out, not to mention the mutts that could be prowling me this very moment, waiting to pounce. I shiver, thinking of the deep wounds on Peeta’s leg that were caused by a mutt attack. Wounds that will never fully heal, that flare up with too much exertion. I can only hope that he hasn’t pushed himself too hard since he left.

 

Not wishing to remain on the ground after dark, I pick out a tree. A willow, not too tall but offering some concealment in its long, flowing tresses. I climb up, sticking to the stronger branches close to the trunk, and after checking for tracker jacker nests, find a sturdy fork for my bed. After some difficulty, I’m able to arrange the sleeping bag in a rather comfortable manner. Sliding my bow and arrows down into the sleeping bag, I hook my game bag on a branch above me and settle in, wrapping the fur blanket around my head and shoulders for added warmth.

 

I know I should try and rest; I haven’t really slept in two days, but my mind keeps wandering to Peeta. What he’s doing, how he’s feeling, if he’s injured. If he wonders whether I’m coming after him or if I chose to remain at the camp, letting him go. If there’s more of those killer soldiers searching for him right now, trying to capture him. I absolutely need to find him before they do.

 

I shudder, thinking of Peeta’s worst nightmares coming to life, of him being tortured — drowned, burned, shocked, beaten, and shot up with tracker jacker venom — as those horrible people try to figure out what went wrong with him. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the distance that separates us, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know that he’s not alone, that I’m coming for him. That we’ll face whatever we need to face the best way we know how.

 

Together.

 

The moon is directly overhead when I finally close my eyes, falling into an uneasy sleep. Almost immediately I enter into a nightmare. It begins with my father, the day he went to work and never came back. I see him in his mining jumpsuit and helmet, hacking away at a coal seam one minute and the next minute he’s gone, vanished, like he was never there. I see myself as a child, sitting near the door of our house, waiting for him late into the evening, until the Peacekeeper knocks on the door to tell us he’s gone.

 

The dream shifts, and I see the bakery burst into flame before my eyes. I see Peeta being pulled away from the wreckage, struggling and yelling for help until a man dressed in black jabs him in the neck with a syringe and he goes limp. I see him dragged into the forest where a hovercraft is waiting, taking him away to brand those hateful marks onto his skin.

 

The snapping sound of a breaking branch startles me awake. The air is still and cold, my breath coming out in small puffs of white. Looking at the sky, I see the moon has shifted enough for me to have slept for a few hours. But what made that noise?

 

 _Snap, snap!_ There it is again. It’s not the sound of an animal walking over branches, but the deliberate breaking of twigs, as if to make a fire. There’s someone else out here. Judging by the sound, they are only about ten or fifteen yards away from me.

 

Slowly, noiselessly, I turn myself in that direction, watching as sparks fly and a small fire begins to bloom. This is probably the worst time to be lighting a fire, in the dead of the night with nothing to hide the flames. I know it’s cold outside, but still. If there’s any of those soldiers lurking about, they’ll be able to spot the fire starter easily. It’s almost as if they want to be found.

 

That thought causes me to bolt upright. _It’s almost as if they want to be found._

 

I’m reaching down into the sleeping bag for my bow when my ears pick up another sound and I shift again. It’s the voice of the fire starter. I listen closely, trying to make out the words. My father used to tell me I could hear the sound of a water droplet rolling off a leaf. Sharp hearing is a good sense to have when you’re a hunter.

 

The person pauses for a moment as they add more sticks to the fire, then begins to speak again, a bit louder this time. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the voice.

 

“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m eighteen years old. I’m from District Twelve. I refuse to be a piece in their game.”

 

“Peeta!” I blurt out, but because of the cold it comes out as more of a squeak than an actual word, and Peeta doesn’t hear me.

 

“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m eighteen years old. I’m from District Twelve. I refuse to be a piece in their game.”

 

_It’s almost as if he wants to be found._

 

Oh my God, he wants to be found. He’s given up. He’s trying to sacrifice himself, thinking it’s the only way to keep me safe, and this is his way of surrendering.

 

Well, I’m not going to allow it.

 

Quickly gathering my supplies, I shimmy out of the sleeping bag and down the tree trunk to the almost frozen ground. I pause for a second, not wanting to startle him into running away. I’m a pretty good sprinter, but I’ll bet with Peeta’s training he’s a much better runner over longer distances than I am, even with his injured leg.

 

I’ve taken only one step towards him when I see it. A pair of eyes, glowing yellow in the darkness, staring at me from the shadow of a large tree about twenty feet away. I’ve seen a wolf’s eyes before, during hunts around District 12, but never higher than my own eye level. This wolf is standing on its hind legs, and no natural wolf stands on its hind legs. This must be a mutt.

 

Slowly, carefully, without breaking eye contact I ready my bow, notching an arrow and drawing it back. Aiming the arrowhead a few inches below those yellow eyes, I take one tentative step towards Peeta. Almost immediately a second pair of eyes appears and the sound of growling fills my ears. My heart starts to stutters against my ribcage as a third set of eyes joins in and the growling grows louder. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight off three of these creatures by myself.

 

“Peeta!” I call, trying to keep my voice level so as to not provoke the mutts into attacking. “Peeta, walk over here slowly!”

 

Over the mutts’ growling I hear Peeta’s repeating mantra pause. “Katniss?” he says into the darkness. “Is that you? What in the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Please help!” I respond, still aiming my arrow at the first creature. My arms are starting to shake with the effort of keeping it drawn. Peeta’s at my side a second later, squinting into the shadows.

 

“What—?” he starts.

 

“In there,” I say, jerking my head towards the creatures. “Mutts.”

 

The color drains from his face as he swallows hard. “Katniss, you need to get out of here.”

 

“No!” I say harshly. The growling grows even louder, causing me to take a step back, directly onto a branch that snaps under my weight.

 

In an instant, not three but four mutts converge, leaping into the air, their front paws raised to attack. Even in the dark I can make out the claws, at least four inches long and razor-sharp. My first arrow lands squarely in the neck of the lead animal, my second arrow down the throat of the one on the left just as Peeta grabs a handful of my jacket collar and yanks, pulling me towards another tree.

 

“Climb!” he yells as the third giant wolf leaps, aiming for his shoulders. Peeta’s able to knock it away with his forearm just as my third arrow imbeds itself into the animal’s side, causing it to skid to a halt a few feet away. Turning, he kicks blindly behind him, managing to hit the fourth wolf square in the head as he shoves me ahead of him. “Climb!”

 

My heart racing so fast I feel faint, I manage to climb the tree, with Peeta on my heels urging me along. The wolf lunges again and I hear the sound of tearing fabric. As soon as I’ve reached a suitable height, I brace myself and turn, notching another arrow and letting it fly. It lands directly through the eye of the beast, and the wolf falls to the ground with a loud thud.

 

A sort of strangled cry escapes my throat as I stare down at the ground, making sure the mutt doesn’t magically return to life. My lungs feel like they’ve been seared in the cold, thin air, and after a few seconds of panic where I can’t catch my breath, I start to climb down.

 

“Don’t move yet, Katniss,” Peeta says, his voice sharp as he grabs ahold of my leg. “There might be more of those things. We need to wait for a bit.”

 

“Okay,” I say through my heaving breaths. I lean my head back against the tree, suddenly remembering to check for tracker jacker nests. Thankfully, I don’t see any.

 

A few minutes later Peeta tugs on my pant leg. “All right. It should be okay to go down now.”

 

We climb down silently, our grunts of exertion the only sound as our feet hit the floor of the woods. Peeta retrieves my arrows from the four massive beasts, cleaning them with pine needles before shoving them back into my quiver and grabbing my hand, leading me over to his fire.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demands as he turns to face me, still gasping for breath, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat despite the frigid air. “Katniss?”

 

“I came to find you!” I shriek, smacking him in the chest with my palms hard enough to cause him to stumble backwards. “Damn you for leaving me, Peeta! I woke up and you were gone! How could you do that to me?”

 

“I was trying to keep you safe!” he yells, catching my wrists as I attempt to smack him again. “It’s too dangerous for you out here, Katniss! It would kill me if anything happened to you!” He hangs his head. “Why didn’t you stay at the camp? Fern, and the children, they all love you!”

 

Trying to yank my wrists from his grasp, I give him my fiercest scowl. “They love you too, and it’s not safe for you out here either! But you already knew that, didn't you? That’s what you wanted! You wanted to give up and let yourself be captured!” I stare at him for a few more seconds until my knees give way, the adrenaline flowing through my veins from the mutt attack dissapaiting from my body all at once. Peeta catches me, pulling me tightly to his chest, stroking my hair as we sink to the ground.

 

“Katniss, I—, there’s something that you don’t know. I need to tell you—”

 

“No!” I snap, burying my face into his shoulder. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about you giving up. I don’t want to hear about how I’m not enough for you to want to live.”

 

His shoulders sag as he exhales. “Katniss,” he says in a pained voice. “That’s not how it is at all.”

 

“Oh no?” I raise my head, looking into his blue eyes. “Then how is it?”

 

Peeta opens his mouth to speak, then thinks twice and closes it again, pulling me tighter against his chest. “I don’t—, I don’t know,” he stammers.

 

“No, you don’t know,” I say. “You don’t know how hard it was for me to admit that I was in love with you. You don’t know how hard I tried to fight it. You don’t know how happy I was when we were together. And you don’t know how hard—” my voice breaks off as a choking noise escapes from my throat. “You don’t know how hard it was for me, when I thought you were dead.” I breathe out a shaky breath. “You don’t know any of this, because you can’t remember it.”

 

He sucks in a sharp breath, parting his lips to speak, but I cover them with my fingers. “But I do,” I say. “And I can’t do that again. If I lose you again, I’ll turn into my mother.”

 

“Katniss,” he whispers, pressing my hand against the scruffy hair on his cheek. “I remember about the bread.”

 

My heart does a somersault in my chest as I bite my bottom lip. “It’s because you saw the picture in the sketchbook.”

 

“No,” he says. “I remember.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against mine. “I remember you in the rain, digging through our trash bins. I remember pushing the loaves into the fire, and my mother hitting me.” His lips quirk into a sad smile. “She told me to feed them to the pig.”

 

I try to breathe in, but only manage to hiccup. “But you didn’t.”

 

His thumb brushes along my cheekbone. “No,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t. I burned them on purpose, Katniss. To give to you.”

 

A lone tear snakes its way down my cheek. “You saved me.”

 

“You looked so broken, Katniss,” he continues. “Ready to give up, and that hurt far worse than anything my mother could do to me. I had to help you. And I’m sorry, I should’ve just walked out in the rain and—“

 

“Stop,” I say, shaking my head. He’s already apologized numerous times for tossing me the bread instead of walking out and handing it to me. “You don’t need to apologize.”

 

“You picked a dandelion the next day, in the schoolyard,” he says. “I remember that too.”

 

“Yes, that’s right,” I whisper.

 

He runs his hand through his disheveled hair, that tortured look once again clouding his beautiful eyes, bright blue even in the dim light of the smoldering fire. “I do remember, Katniss. I remember you bringing me the salve for my black eye. I remember becoming your friend. I remember afternoons spent in the Meadow, and the first time you let me hold your hand. And, our first kiss, the day I turned—“

 

“The day you turned seventeen,” I finish. “I tried to bake you a cake, but it didn’t really turn out that well.”

 

Peeta smiles. “Well, you can’t be good at everything.”

 

A sputter of laughter forces its way from my freezing lungs as I shiver, realizing just now how cold I am. The wind has picked up in the few minutes we’ve been standing here, whipping through the treetops and scattering leaves. Snowflakes have even started to fall.

 

Peeta notices them too. “C’mon, let’s get you inside and warm up.” He stands, picking up my game bag as he helps me to my feet.

 

“Inside?” I ask. “Where?”

 

“This way,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to a clearing where some rocks form a small, cave-like structure. Stepping inside, I see his pack and thermal blanket lying next to a bed of pine needles. A fire with blue flames radiating both heat and light is burning inside a newly constructed fire pit, the outside lined carefully with stones. Seeing it all causes a surge of anger to flare up inside me. He’d been planning on staying here for a while.

 

I set my bow and game bag down next to the blanket. “So this was your plan? You were just gonna stay here until they found you?”

 

Peeta gives me a sharp look. “Katniss, don’t—”

 

“Don’t what?” I snap. “Don’t speak the truth?”

 

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” he sputters. He crosses the space between us, taking my hand. “Katniss, you’ve seen what I’ve done, what I’m capable of doing.” He turns away as his voice takes on that cold, detached tone that makes my blood curdle. “Those people who attacked us, who killed Rue, they turned me into a monster.”

 

“No!” I say frantically. “You’re not—“

 

“Yes I am, Katniss!” he shouts, the harsh sound reverberating off the walls of the cave. “They killed my family, and took me and warped and trained me into some kind of killing machine. You saw what I did to Gale! What I did to that Peacekeeper!”

 

“Drake had it coming,” I mutter, shivering despite the heat radiating from the synthetic flames. “You were protecting me.”

 

“Even so,” he says, dropping down next to the blanket. “They turned me into something I’m not. I’m just a piece in someone’s elaborate game, and I want it to stop.” He looks up at me, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I want to be free of this, Katniss. Can’t you see that?”

 

Sitting down next to him, I reach for his hand. “Back in Twelve, when you grabbed Gale’s arm, you were scared. You didn’t understand what was happening to you, and you asked me to stay with you. Do you remember that?”

 

His eyes flick over at me, briefly before flitting away. “Yeah.”

 

“And I promised I would,” I say, sliding closer to him. “Always. Those people might’ve tried to change you, to turn you into something you’re not. But it didn’t work, Peeta. You came back.”

 

He shakes his head, his damp blond curls flopping over his forehead. “No, Katniss. I love you too much to keep putting you in danger. You don’t deserve that.”

 

I huff in frustration. Where Peeta has always been able to paint pictures as vivid with his words as with his paintbrush, I’ve never been talented at putting my feelings into words. I’ve always relied on actions to express myself.

 

“Do you remember,” I begin. “Back at the camp, when you asked me if it was your fault the bakery was destroyed?”

 

He winces as he scrubs at his chin. “Yeah.”

 

“And I said no, Peeta,” I say, bringing his hand to my lips. “Not real. Because it wasn’t your fault. None of this is. The people who took you were the ones that destroyed your home and killed your family. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

He looks at me, his expression a mixture of sadness and fear. His free hand buries itself in his hair. “So? It doesn’t matter. They’re all still dead because of me. Rue’s dead because of me. You were almost killed because of me. It needs to stop!”

 

I close my eyes briefly at the mention of Rue’s name. “We protect each other,” I murmur. “Real or not real?”

 

His hand loosens its grip on his hair. “Real.”

  
  
“I’m safe with you. Real or not real.”

 

“Real,” he says. “I would die to keep you safe, Katniss.”

 

I press my lips to his hand. “You love me,” I say, my heart pounding. “Real or not real?”

 

A look of intense pain washes over his face. “Real,” he whispers. “So, so real.” He shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not worthy of your love.”

  
  
“That’s not for you to decide,” I say, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “I’m fully capable of deciding that for myself.” My fingers trail along his stubbled jaw, a touch I know is soothing. “I say that I love you. I always have. Ever since that day in the rain when you threw me the bread, you’ve been imbedded in my heart.”

  
  
His hand rips from his hair. “But Katniss… how can you want me like this? How can you accept me, knowing what I’ve done? What I am?”

  
  
Slowly, I curve my hands around his cheeks, looking directly into his eyes. “I’ll have you any way that I can. Always.”

  
  
A single tear rolls down his cheek that I catch with my thumb. “We were going to toast together,” he says. “The day after your eighteenth birthday. Real or not real?”

  
  
His confession hits me square in the chest, almost knocking the wind out of me. “You remember?”

  
  
He nods, pressing my hand against his cheek. “Yes. I remember, Katniss. I remember everything about you.”

  
  
“Then toast with me,” I say, shocked by my own boldness. “Here. Now. There’s no need to wait.” And there isn’t. Marriages before the age of eighteen are allowed in District 12 with parental permission, but while my mother would’ve agreed to sign our marriage license, there’s no way Mrs. Mellark would’ve signed off on her youngest son marrying a Seam brat. Before Peeta was taken, we were counting down the days until my birthday, when he could be out from under his mother’s thumb.

  
  
Peeta stares at me, his face a mixture of pain and intense longing. Slowly, he intertwines our fingers, bringing my hand to his lips. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

 

“Yes,” I whisper. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. “I’m sure. You’re what I want. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone else. Just you.”

 

He smiles, a beautiful, radiant smile.

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always looking forward to hearing your thoughts! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments! They mean so much, and I appreciate each and every one!
> 
> Once again, a huge thank-you to DandelionSunset for betaing this chapter for me! Please be sure to check out her stories, she is an amazing author!
> 
> This chapter is rated M for sexual content.

_Plutarch is pacing back and forth on the upper level of the Control Room, hands behind his back as he surveys the room. He’s waiting for Minister Antonius to arrive for his morning briefing._

 

_Although the blizzard has offered more time to tweak and perfect the plan, the delay has also caused some difficulties. The recovery of Soldier Eighteen needs to correspond as closely as possible with the capture of assets deployed to Seven and Four, where no blizzard awaits to slow them down. With the two districts as far apart as they are, coordinating such a capture has been difficult, to say the least. Plutarch trusts the agents there, but there are still things that could go badly wrong._

 

_The morale level in District 12 is also an issue. In the past week there have been more floggings in Twelve than in the last several years, and arrests continue to be made on a daily basis by the power-hungry Head Peacekeeper. One young man, a nineteen-year-old coal miner, was nearly killed at the whipping post only two days ago, saved in the nick of time by none other than the Mayor’s daughter. Following this incident, it was only by the skin of his teeth that Plutarch was able to convince the furious Minister to not arrest and remove Mayor Undersee straightaway._

 

_He may enjoy the strategy involved in such things, but Plutarch Heavensbee does not enjoy having to plead with anyone, especially with people such as the Minister. Even if he’s able to do so in such a way as to not make it obvious, it still rankles him. But in this case it was absolutely necessary. The intelligence provided by Mayor Undersee has been crucial to the plan thus far, and he needs as many of the right people in the districts as possible or the plan will fail, which will mean trial and public execution for all those involved._

 

_With that, he makes a mental note to further investigate this coal miner. Perhaps he would be a valuable addition to the plan. Especially if he’s consorting with the Mayor’s daughter._

 

_“Good day, Heavensbee,” Minister Antonius says as he steps through the door, straightening the black glove covering his right hand. The superficial cuts caused by the monitor glass have been healed, but the hand still pains him from time to time._

 

_“Good day, Minister,” Plutarch answers, bowing slightly. “It is a fine day, indeed.”_

 

_“I trust everything is as it should be?” Antonius asks. “What is the status on the weather system affecting Eighteen’s recovery?”_

 

_“It is expected to continue for a few more days, sir,” Plutarch replies. “Soldier Seventeen has been conducting his readiness drills, and as soon as the storm breaks he will be deployed without delay. He is prepared, and quite impatient according to his trainer, sir.”_

 

_The Minister smiles, tapping his baton. “Yes, I have been most impressed with Seventeen’s progress thus far. He has already successfully completed two missions on his own, and I have little doubt in his ability to both capture and demoralize Soldier Eighteen.” He sighs. “If only the damn weather would cooperate.”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Plutarch says. “It is indeed frustrating.”_

 

_“Very well, it seems as though you have everything well in hand here, Mr. Heavensbee,” Minister Antonius says proudly, glancing around the Control Room. “The new Peacekeepers have squashed the unrest in Districts Twelve and Seven, and once this weather system breaks, we will be able to apprehend Soldier Eighteen without further delay. I am pleased, and I will be sure to inform the President of your achievements at the next possible opportunity.”_

 

_Plutarch nods in agreement, tapping his fist against his heart. “Thank you, sir. It is my honor to serve.”_

 

_“I shall see you again in the morning,” Antonius says as he heads for the exit. “Until then…”_

 

_Plutarch watches as the door closes behind the Minister, then walks over to his monitor, typing his code into the keypad. When the box appears in the corner of the screen, he begins keying in the message._

 

_RECOVERY ASSET WILL DEPLOY FOLLOWING STORM. WILL ADVISE._

 

_Tapping his chin, he shifts on his feet, waiting for the coded response._

 

_UNDERSTOOD. WE ARE READY._

 

_With two quick keystrokes the box disappears, and Plutarch breathes out a long breath. Now, all he can do is wait._

 

* * *

 

When I was a little girl, my mother once told me that the toasting ceremony tradition in Twelve was developed as a way to ensure that the newly married couple could enjoy their first night together as husband and wife. She explained that when her parents were children, the Peacekeepers in charge of the district would often enforce something called prima nocta. This was a wretched custom where, if he so chose, a Peacekeeper could lay claim to the bride on her wedding night.

  
  
In order to counter this despicable act, the toasting was invented as an alternative wedding ceremony, to ensure that the couple would be allowed to enjoy their wedding night in relative peace. While the toasting wasn’t officially binding as a marriage in the eyes of the government, it did at least have the desired effect of reducing the incidence of prima nocta.

  
  
I then asked Mom if she’d been subjected to prima nocta. She gasped at the question, shaking her head reassuringly. “No, Katniss. That tradition had long passed by the time we were married.” She smiled then, staring off into the distance. “Your father and I had our official wedding in the Justice Building, and then held our toasting later that evening. But you know, no one in District Twelve really feels married until after the toasting.”

 

We get ready first. Peeta melts and heats some of the already fallen snow so we can bathe. I rinse and brush out my hair, rebraiding it with the blue ribbon Prim gave me before we fled District 12. I help Peeta shave and comb his hair, then rebandage his leg wound, which opened back up during our fight with the mutts. He dresses in the shirt that I made for him while I slip into my nightgown, the closest thing I have to the rented white dress that’s usually worn for a wedding at home.

 

Once we’re prepared, dressed in our best, I pull a chunk of bread from my bag as Peeta preps the fire, not wanting to use the synthetic, Capitol-made fire for our ceremony. Tearing the bread into two pieces, we spear them with sticks and hold them over the glowing orange flames, watching as the edges start to brown and the cave fills with the scent of toasting bread. My heart begins to pound in anticipation. This is not how I imagined our toasting would be. Most toastings in Twelve are held after the couple is married in the Justice Building. The two families gather for a bit of cake, or even an entire meal if it can be afforded. Then the couple builds their first fire together in their new home and toasts the bread. Peeta always said we could use a cheese bun for ours, since they were my favorite thing that he baked.

 

In all my wildest dreams, I never thought our toasting would be like this; held in a dark, damp cave in the middle of nowhere, with no family present, and using bread that Peeta baked in a homemade outdoor oven located in a refugee camp where we were attacked and nearly killed. Again.

 

But somehow, despite everything, it’s still perfect. Because it’s him. It’s _us_. He loves me and I love him, and that’s good enough for me. And maybe when this is all over, we can have a small gathering at home to celebrate with my mother and Prim, and the Hawthornes.

 

At Peeta’s nod, we draw the pieces back from the fire, waiting a few seconds before pulling the hot toast off of the sticks.

 

Peeta clears his throat, eyeing me shyly as he takes my hand, the licking flames of the fire highlighting the golden strands in his hair. “Katniss, I love you. Even when I didn’t remember anything, didn’t know who I was or where I came from, when I wasn’t sure if I remembered you, you stood by me. You protected me, you helped me, and you loved me.” He takes a deep breath, holding the charred bread up to my lips. “With this bread, I pledge myself to you. I pledge to love you and protect you my whole life, until death do us part.”

 

I chew the bread slowly, savoring it as Peeta brushes the crumbs away from my lips before curving his large hand around my cheek. “Real,” he whispers. “This is real.”

 

“Yes,” I murmur. “It’s real.”

 

With a final swipe of his thumb across my lips, he smiles and sits back, waiting for me.

 

I swallow hard as I begin. “Peeta, I love you. You gave me hope when I had none, the day you gave me the bread. You taught me how to love with your kind eyes and patient heart. Even when you didn’t remember us, you still protected me, and saved me.” I bring the bread in my hand to his lips. “With this bread, I pledge myself to you. I pledge to love you and protect you my whole life, until death do us part.”

 

As he did for me, I brush the crumbs from his lips as he chews, watching his blue eyes darken with hunger as he studies me, his cheeks flushed and his blond curls flopping down over his forehead. His hand holding mine begins to tremble in anticipation, sending shocks of electricity surging throughout my body.

 

“Peeta, I—”

 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, his free hand reaching to trace the outline of my lips. “Please?”

 

“Of course,” I whisper. “You don’t have to ask—,”

 

I’m cut off by his lips pressing against mine. His kiss is sweet, his lips warm and slightly chapped. But I can feel the underlying passion beneath the sweetness, a force so powerful it nearly steals my breath.

 

“Katniss,” he murmurs as we break apart. “I want you.” His thumb brushes along my cheekbone. “Can I—, can I have you?”

 

I almost cry with relief. _Finally._

 

“Yes,” I manage to say.

 

His lips quirk into a slight smile as he reaches for my braid, his hand gliding down its length until he reaches the tie at the end. He gently releases the tie, combing his fingers through the strands until my hair falls like a curtain over my shoulders and back. “Your hair,” he says softly. “It’s so gorgeous.” His hand curves around the back of my neck, pulling me close as his other arm encircles my waist.

 

“You love me,” he whispers. “Real or not real?”

  
  
“Real,” I murmur. “It’s always been real.”

  
  
Slowly, he dips his head, his lips brushing against mine so softly I barely feel them. A tiny whimper escapes my throat as Peeta leans back, studying my face. My arms wrap around his neck as his pupils dilate even more, his arms pulling me against his muscular chest, into his warmth that I’ve craved ever since he was taken from me.

 

“We haven’t done this before, have we?” he asks, looking sheepish.

 

The question makes my heart pound even faster, thinking of all the times I wished we could go further than we were allowing ourselves. How easy it was to lose myself in our kisses and caresses. How badly I wanted to feel his skin against mine, to feel him moving inside me. But the fear of me possibly getting pregnant, and the subsequent consequences from Peeta’s mother, or even Gale, always kept us from going too far. Of course there were herbs I could take, my mother knew about them, and even used them herself to prevent pregnancy when I was small. But they aren’t one hundred percent effective, and we didn’t want to take any chances.

 

Not that it’s likely even an issue. My courses have never been regular, and it's been several months since I last had one.

 

“No,” I answer. “We haven’t. We were waiting for our toasting.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “I don’t have any memories of us like this. But I wanted to make sure.”

 

His fingers thread through my hair as he captures my lips with his, tilting his head as his mouth molds to mine. His tongue traces along my bottom lip, asking for permission, like the gentleman he’s always been.

  
  
My lips part against his, allowing his tongue to explore and taste the contours of my mouth. The spark in my chest flares to life, spreading down my arms and legs until it concentrates into a fiery pool in my belly. This, this closeness, this _fire_ , is what my body has craved for all these months. Ever since that morning when Gale brought him back from the woods, barely clinging to life, this is what I’ve needed.

  
  
Sliding his arm under my knees, he lifts me into his lap, cradling me against his chest as our kisses grow more urgent, the flame within me growing more intense with each swipe of our tongues. I gasp against his lips as his fingertips glide down my cheek and neck to my chest, landing on the tied neckline of my nightgown. He pauses, breaking the kiss to look into my eyes. I nod, burying my fingers in his thick blond hair as his lips follow the trail of his fingers, kissing down to the edge of the fabric covering my breasts.

  
  
“Katniss,” he sighs into my skin. He finds the end of the tie, pulling it loose, allowing the nightgown to slide off my shoulder. His hand slips beneath the garment, ghosting over my breast before covering it with his palm. I arch into his hand as a groan rumbles up from his chest. “My Katniss.”

  
  
“Yes. I’m yours, Peeta,” I murmur as I tug on his hair. “Always.” I suck in a sharp breath as his mouth lands on the fluttering pulse point of my throat, nipping gently at the tender skin. Gathering me close, he gets to his feet, carrying me over to the sleeping bag near the fire, laying me down with such reverence it brings tears to my eyes. He hovers over me, his sapphire eyes trailing up and down over my face and body.

  
  
“Real,” he whispers, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “You’re real.”

  
  
I nod, tracing my fingertips along his strong jaw as he shudders. “I’m real. I love you.”

  
  
He leans down to kiss me again, his fingers brushing along my skin as he reaches for the hem of my nightgown. My belly contracts at the sensation, sending another wave of heat rippling through my body. “Can I see you?”

  
  
At my nod of assent, he slides the nightgown up my abdomen and chest, drawing it over my head and tossing it aside. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as his eyes take in the sight of me, almost bare beneath him. He stares so long that I flinch, fighting the urge to cover myself with my hands. “I know… I’m not…”

  
  
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, silencing me with a brush of his fingers across my lips, followed by a soft kiss. “Don’t ever hide from me. Please.”

  
  
“I want to see you too,” I say, gathering a fistful of his shirt and tugging. He smiles as he sits up, untying the neck before pulling it over his shoulders and head. For a few seconds I can only stare in awe at how beautiful he is. I’ve felt his strong arms and chest against me, when we would kiss in the woods during our Saturday afternoons, or at the camp as we slept at night, but I’ve never seen him shirtless until now.

 

I run my hands greedily up his muscular arms, across his broad shoulders and down his sculpted chest to his stomach, tracing my finger through the fine hair below his belly button that disappears into his pants.

 

Taking the hint, Peeta unbuckles his belt, sliding his pants and underwear off and tossing them into the pile of clothing. My eyes go wide at the sight of him, aroused and ready for me. Tentatively, I reach my hand to wrap around him and begin moving it up and down, reveling in the soft skin that glides so easily over his erection. Peeta moans loudly, bucking into my hand before dropping down onto his forearms to capture my lips in a searing kiss.

  
  
“Katniss,” he whispers as he lavishes my neck and shoulders with his mouth and hands before moving down to my breasts. “God, I love you!”

 

  
“Peeta,” I gasp, his calloused fingers now trailing down my chest and abdomen to the waistband of my underwear. The kindling in my belly has roared into a raging inferno and I squirm, raising my hips off the sleeping bag, desperate to feel his skin against mine where I need it most. “Peeta, please!”

  
  
“Yes,” he murmurs into my collarbone. “I want to touch you.”

  
  
Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he carefully peels my underwear down my legs, inhaling shakily as he gazes up and down my bare body for the first time, the look in his eyes a combination of wonder and lust. “Katniss,” he says. “You’re so unbelievably gorgeous!”

 

“Peeta,” I moan, reaching for him, uneasy under his intense stare and missing the warmth of his body. “Come back.”

 

Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself over me, pressing me into the sleeping bag as his lips brush across mine. We moan in unison at the touch of our bare, overheated skin, the feel of his erection hard against my belly sending another hot wave of bliss soaring through me. “ _Peeta!_ ”

 

At the sound of his name he shudders, thrusting lightly against me. “Oohh. Say that again.”

 

  
“ _Peeta_ ,” I say as he palms my breast, kneading it. I tilt my head as his lips plant open-mouth kisses down the column of my throat. “Please, touch me!”

 

He nods against my neck as he rolls off to the side, his hand finally moving down to nudge my legs apart, draping my thigh over his hip. “Put your arms around me, Katniss.”

  
  
I weave my fingers into his hair, rubbing circles on the back of his neck as his lips caress along my jaw and cheek. A high-pitched whimper, almost a squeak, escapes my throat as his fingers find my most intimate place and start to explore. “Hmm,” he whispers, smiling against my skin. “Do you like that?”

 

“Yes,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”

  
He doesn’t stop, and slowly his explorations become less tentative as he responds to the chorus of sounds he elicits from me. My skin flushes hotter and hotter, the blood in my veins burning like coal as the coil in my belly winds tighter and tighter. To think I once had no intention of ever experiencing pleasure such as this, of ever wanting to experience pleasure like this. My breaths grow shallower and shallower, my fingers tugging harder on his hair as I hear his voice break through the fog filling my mind. “Let go, Katniss. I’ve got you. I want to see you.”

 

And then white-hot stars burst behind my eyes as I shatter into a million pieces, crying out his name, clinging to his shoulders to keep myself tethered to earth as he whispers words of such adoration I feel as if my heart will burst.

  
  
I’m not sure how long it is before I open my eyes, but the first thing I see is Peeta smiling his shy smile, stroking my sweat-soaked skin with his fingertips, his blond hair illuminated like a halo around his head from the firelight flickering against the walls of the cave. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. He gently lays me down, shifting back on top of me and settling into the cradle of my legs. “Are you ready, love?”

  
  
I nod, wrapping one leg around his thigh. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  
  
He pauses as his thumb trails along the curve of my cheek, his forehead wrinkling in concern. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  
  
Shaking my head, I tug on his neck, bringing his lips to mine. “You won’t,” I breathe against his lips. “You’re so gentle, Peeta. You won’t hurt me.”

  
  
He stares, unconvinced, for a few more seconds, then nods his head. “You tell me if it hurts too much, and I’ll stop.”

  
  
I take his face in my hands, looking deeply into his eyes. “You won’t hurt me,” I say firmly. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  
  
“Okay,” he whispers before lowering his lips to mine, deepening the kiss as he starts to push into me.

  
  
He is gentle, so gentle it’s impossible in this moment to compare him to the man who almost broke Gale’s arm, the man who killed Peacekeeper Drake and fought off a mutt with his bare hands. Even so, I bite my lip as he takes me, my fingernails digging into the tight muscles of his shoulders as he trembles above me, waiting for me to adjust to him.

  
  
“Katniss,” he croaks, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up. “You feel incredible.” His lips caress along my forehead and temple. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  
I inhale as deeply as I can, willing myself to relax. As the discomfort subsides I kiss his shoulder, pressing my heel into his thigh. “You can move now, Peeta. I’m okay.”

 

He grunts in relief as he starts to move, tentatively at first, then slowly finding a rhythm as my hands caress up and down the smooth skin of his back. “Katniss,” he says in the midst of his throaty moans. “You’re perfect!” He works his right hand under the small of my back, lifting my hips to meet his as my knees press against his sides and my legs wrap around his waist. “So perfect!”

  
  
There are no words to describe the feelings coursing through me. It is simply beyond my comprehension. Aside from the physical joining of our bodies, there’s a completeness, a wholeness that I’ve never felt before, not even when we’ve kissed or held each other close at night. I feel more alive in this moment that I ever have in my life. And I know there’s no possible way I could ever feel this with anyone except Peeta. He is mine, and I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.

  
  
But it’s only a few seconds later that he starts to tremble even more, his teeth catching hard on his bottom lip. “Katniss!” he cries, the sound echoing against the walls of the cave. “I can’t—, I’m sorry!”

  
  
“It’s okay,” I tell him, knowing he can’t hold himself back any longer. “Let go!”

  
  
His hand presses me up to meet his final thrust as a strangled moan rips from his lungs and a rush of warmth from his release fills me. He buries his face into my hair, whispering over and over how much he loves me, how perfect I am, how he wishes he could freeze this moment so we could stay here forever. I feel his tears dripping down onto my neck as he carefully rolls us, tucking me into him as closely as possible with my head on his chest, wrapping us both in the thermal blanket.

  
  
“Are you okay?” Peeta asks. “I didn’t hurt—“

  
  
But I stop his words with my fingers, brushing them over his lips. “Shh, no. You didn’t hurt me.”

  
  
His arms tighten around me, holding me so close that I’m not quite sure whose limbs belong to whom. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers as another tear rolls down his cheek. His finger traces down my nose, over my lips and chin to my throat. “I can’t lose the only light in my life. I just can’t.”

  
  
I burrow imperceptibly further into his side as the soothing sound of his heartbeat lulls me to sleep. “You won’t lose me, Peeta. I won’t allow it.”

  
  
“You’ll stay with me?” he asks. “No matter what sort of monster I’ve become?”

  
  
“Always,” I answer, softly kissing his jaw. “And you’re not a monster. You’re Peeta Mellark, you’re from District Twelve, and you’re my husband.”

 

He smiles, leaning down to kiss my lips before pressing his forehead against mine. “And you’re everything to me, Katniss. Absolutely everything.”

 

He’s still stroking my hair as the tendrils of sleep pull me under.

 

* * *

 

_“Mr. Heavensbee, sir,” the trainer says, a tall, lanky man with brown hair and round glasses. His name is Carter, if Plutarch is remembering correctly._

 

_“Yes, Mr. Carter?” he replies._

 

_Carter smiles broadly, bouncing on the balls of his feet, no doubt pleased that he’s been addressed by name. “I have some wonderful news, sir! I have successfully reactivated Soldier Eighteen’s tracker!”_

 

_Plutarch is able to stifle his sharp intake of breath just in the nick of time, coughing into his hand to hide his surprise. “You—, you have?”_

 

_“Yes, sir!” Carter exclaims, oblivious to Plutarch’s distress. “From what I understand, it initially shorted out due to Eighteen’s sudden surge in heart rate and blood pressure, which occurred during a presumed attack outside the border of District Twelve. You see, all trackers operate on an individual frequency, so we are able to track each soldier without the tracking signals overlapping, and—“_

 

_“Yes, yes!” Plutarch snaps. “I am aware of this already, so please get on with it!”_

 

_Carter immediately looks chagrined. “I’m sorry, sir. Um, well, I was able to isolate the frequency of Eighteen’s tracker, and using a new software patch that I attached to a computer virus, I was able to essentially send in a repair program for the tracking device. It has since rebooted and is now broadcasting a clear signal.”_

 

_Plutarch swallows hard, clasping his hands behind his back so Carter won’t notice how badly they’re shaking. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “Very good, Mr. Carter. Well done, indeed.”_

 

_“Thank you, sir!” Carter says proudly. “It’s my honor to serve!”_

 

_Clearing his throat again, Plutarch walks with Carter to his monitor. “So, where exactly is Soldier Eighteen now?”_

 

_“Here, sir,” Carter replies, pointing to a blinking orange dot on the monitor. The dot indicates a location approximately ten miles south of District 6._

 

_“I see,” says Plutarch. Perhaps there is a way this information could be helpful. “Yes, Mr. Carter, I am most impressed. And at exactly what frequency is the tracker broadcasting? So I may note it in the log?”_

 

_“1580.40 MHz, sir,” Carter says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose._

 

_Plutarch nods. “Thank you. Return to your station and ensure that Soldier Seventeen is prepared for launch as soon as the weather allows. And inform me at once if Eighteen‘s location changes.”_

 

_“Very well, sir,” Carter says. “Seventeen will be briefed and launched as soon as possible.”_

 

_“Thank you, Mr. Carter,” Plutarch acknowledges. “I will be sure to inform Minister Antonius at once of this wonderful achievement. He will be most pleased.”_

 

_Carter smiles widely, bobbing his head. “Thank you, sir! I would be most grateful!” The trainer taps his fist to his heart and hurries back to his monitor to stare intently at the blinking orange dot he just brought to life, still basking in the glory of his achievement._

 

_Plutarch watches Carter settle in at his station before moving to his own monitor, quickly inputting his special code into the keypad. As soon as the box appears he begins to type._

 

_18’S TRACKER REACTIVATED. FOLLOW 1580.40 MHz._

 

_The amount of time he waits for a response seems like an eternity, his heart pounding in rhythm with the valuable seconds ticking away. If they aren’t able to get to Eighteen before the Capitol… well, he doesn’t want to think about the setbacks that would result._

 

_Finally, the reply flickers across the screen._

 

_COPY. WILL TRACK AND DEPLOY ASAP._

 

_Plutarch inhales a shaky breath through his nose as he taps the command to clear the program from his monitor. The blizzard should be blowing over in the next couple of days, and while it’s possible he could delay Seventeen’s launch for maybe another half a day, beyond that there’s not much more he can do. They are going to be cutting it very close, much closer than anyone could have anticipated._

 

_He huffs out the breath, his hands clenching into fists as he straightens his shoulders. Yes. He had better get moving. Picking up his telephone, he dials a number._

 

_“Effie Trinket, please,” he says into the receiver. He pauses again, scratching at the back of his neck as he glances down at Mr. Carter, still watching the blinking orange dot._

 

_“Miss Trinket,” he says as she answers. “It is time.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am always eager to hear your thoughts on each chapter! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left me kudos and comments! I appreciate each and every one! I also need to thank DandelionSunset for betaing this chapter. Be sure to check out her stories, she's an amazing author! :)
> 
> This chapter is rated M for sexual content.

The sky is nearly dark when I open my eyes again, the harsh winds blowing snow into the mouth of the cave, covering the first few feet in white powder. I shiver slightly as I realize I’m still naked under the blanket, pressed up against Peeta, with my head lying on his chest and our legs intertwined. He’s still asleep, his arms locked around me, as if to protect me from the storm raging outside our little cocoon of warmth and safety.

 

My heart flutters, heat blooming in my cheeks as I recall how we came to be in this position. How handsome Peeta looked during our toasting, how heartfelt and sweet the words he spoke, binding himself to me. And how tender he was during our lovemaking, worshipping me with his hands and mouth, ensuring I was as relaxed as possible, with so much love in his blue eyes as he took me that I didn’t feel merely beautiful, I felt as radiant as the sun.

 

I breathe in a long breath, reveling in his strong body wrapped around mine, shielding me from anything that might bring me harm, even as he sleeps. Tears spring to my eyes as I think about how close I came to never seeing him again, at how willing he was to sacrifice himself to keep me safe. And how frightened I was that I wouldn’t be able to get through to him, to convince him how much I need him to stay with me.

 

Tilting my chin, I press a light kiss to Peeta’s neck as I slowly run my palm across his broad chest. He moans softly, shifting as his arms pull me closer to him so I still my movements, not wishing to wake him. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, his body relaxed and supple, with a slight smile on his full lips. For him, peaceful sleep is especially hard to come by, so I really should leave him alone.

 

But my hand seems to have a mind of its own, and a few minutes after Peeta’s breathing has evened out, I continue my gentle exploration. I sigh in contentment as my palm travels over the smooth skin of his shoulder, over to the smattering of fine hair between his pectorals, continuing down his chest to his abdomen, and following the sharp line of his pelvic bone. His legs twitch as I graze against his cock, half-erect even in sleep, his hips thrusting slightly at my touch. I hear his heartbeat speed up a bit under my ear, his breath hitching as he inhales.

 

_How close did I come to losing him forever?_

 

My throat constricts as I turn my head, stifling a sob into Peeta’s chest. His arms tighten even more around me, his hands splaying across my back and shoulder. His lips press against my forehead as he breathes in the scent of my hair, exhaling on a soft moan.

 

“What is it, Katniss?” he whispers, his voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

 

Mentally kicking myself for waking him, I shake my head. “It’s nothing, Peeta. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you.”

 

“Too late,” he jokes, shifting us so he can look into my eyes. “So you might as well tell me what’s wrong.”

 

His stare is so intense I have to look away, reaching for his hand and bringing it to my lips. “Sometimes I have to remind myself that you’re still here, with me. I need to see you… and touch you.”

 

The corners of his lips quirk up into a soft smile. “Well, I don’t care if you see me,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. “Or touch me.” He props himself up on his elbow, hovering over me, his blond hair mussed and his face flushed as he leans down to kiss me. “I’m yours, Katniss. You can touch me whenever you want.”

 

His playful words send a bolt of heat directly to my core, and I don’t even have time to respond before he slides his arms around my waist and flips us over so I’m straddling him, the blanket falling off my back into a heap. Fighting against my instinct to cross my arms in front of my chest, I watch as his face transforms into a look of lustful wonder.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Katniss,” he whispers as he brings his hands up to gently cup my breasts. “How’d I get so lucky?”

 

“I’m not—” I stutter, but he silences me with his finger, swiping it across my lips.

 

“Shh,” he says. His hands move to my shoulders, trailing down my arms before wrapping around my wrists, bringing my palms to his chest. “You said you wanted to touch me. Well, I’m right here. Go ahead and touch me.”

 

Gulping, I nod, contracting my hands over his pectorals, his muscles as firm as iron beneath his soft, pale skin. At his reassuring nod, I gently brush my thumbs over his nipples, moaning as Peeta gasps and his hips buck up into me. I can feel his hard erection between my legs and it sends another heady rush of warmth to my core, knowing that it’s me he’s responding to.

 

“Mmph,” he groans as his eyes flutter closed, a look of utter bliss crossing his face. “Yes, Katniss. Just like that.”

 

Emboldened by his tender words, I tentatively rock against him, drawing loud moans from us both as his hands curve around my hips, guiding my movements. Peeta sits up, his sapphire eyes meeting mine for a brief second before he crushes his lips to mine, his tongue slipping between them to taste my mouth as my arms wrap around his neck.

 

“Katniss,” he rasps, his lips breaking away to trail kisses down my neck to my collarbone. I arch my back, giving him access to my breasts as our hips continue their gentle rocking, the roaring hunger for him threatening to engulf me completely. I’m a girl on fire, as hot as burning coal.

 

“ _Peeta!_ ” I gasp as his lips close over my right nipple, laving it with his tongue before moving across my chest to my left. _“Peeta!”_

 

One hand curves around my cheek as his mouth returns to mine in a sloppy kiss, our tongues sliding together greedily. “Are you too sore?” he asks, his other hand still firmly on my hip.

 

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I need you.”

 

Peeta nods, kissing me softly as he lifts me up, positioning his erection between my legs as I slowly sink down onto him. “Ohh,” I breathe out, willing myself to relax as Peeta’s hands trail up and down my back, waiting for me to adjust to him. I am a bit sore, but as I begin to slowly undulate my hips the pinching sensation fades, replaced by a feeling of completeness, and an almost overwhelming pleasure.

 

Peeta tangles one hand into my hair, his lips lavishing my neck and shoulders as we move together, the stubble along his jaw and neck tickling my skin. Cupping his cheeks, I bring our lips together for a brief kiss before Peeta pulls away, his eyes hooded and his jaw clenched as he tries to hold himself off long enough for me to catch up to him. “Katniss,” he croaks. “I want to feel you. I want to feel you all around me. Please, come with me!”

 

I’m close, so close that when Peeta latches his lips onto the pulse point of my neck I shatter, fluttering and clenching around him. With a final thrust, his eyes squeeze shut and he cries out my name, flooding me with his warmth. He wraps his arms around me as I crumple against him, holding my boneless body steady as we both slowly regain our senses. Then he gently lifts me off of him and lays us back down on the sleeping bag, covering us with the blanket.

 

“Was that enough touching for you?” he asks teasingly as he smiles, brushing a damp strand of hair off my cheek.

 

“For now,” I say, trying to match his teasing tone. I press a kiss to his jaw, sliding my leg across his hips. My body may be sated for the time being, but now that I’ve experienced this level of pleasure, that we’ve experienced it together, I know I won’t be satisfied for very long. “Ask me again after we’ve slept a little more.”

 

“I will,” he replies, turning his head for another kiss before guiding me to lay my head on his chest. “I do have one question though.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

His hand trails softly along the back of my thigh, pebbling my skin with gooseflesh. “Would you sing for me? I want to fall asleep to the sound of your voice.”

 

His request brings a soft smile to my lips as I nod against his chest. I used to sing to him during our time together on Saturday afternoons, and since he was always awake before dawn every day to work in the bakery, he would often fall asleep as I sang, his head lying against my shoulder as I ran my fingers through his blond curls.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

 

Placing another kiss to his jaw, I clear my throat and begin to sing.

 

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow._  
_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow._  
_Lay down your head, and close your eyes._  
_And when they open, the sun will rise._

_Here it's safe, and here it's warm._  
_Here the daisies guard you from every harm._  
_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._  
_Here is the place where I love you._

 

Peeta’s sound asleep before the end of the third line.

 

* * *

 

_“Mr. Heavensbee?” Carter says, breaking Plutarch from his thoughts. “There’s a phone call for you.”_

 

_“Thank you,” he replies as he picks up his receiver, clearing his throat. “This is Heavensbee.”_

 

_“This is Effie Trinket,” says the voice on the other end of the line. “I’ve secured the item that you asked for.”_

 

_Plutarch’s head snaps up, his eyes flitting quickly around the room, making sure no one is paying him undue attention. “Excellent,” he says into the receiver. “At precisely what time will it be ready?”_

 

_“According to my source, we will need to remove or disable the hangar guards, and then one minute is required to remotely override the launch codes,” she replies. “I’ve been told there shouldn’t otherwise be any problems.”_

 

_“Very well,” Plutarch says. “I will keep you updated. Stand by.”_

 

_He hangs up the phone, his mind racing with all of the last-minute details that still require his attention. As he’d stated earlier, the timing would have to be impeccable for them to pull this off. They simply had to get to Soldier Eighteen before the recovery asset, or the entire plan could be blown._

 

_Sitting down at his station overlooking the Control Room, Plutarch begins checking off his mental checklist. He has no wife or children to be concerned with, or even any extended family for that matter. His mother and father both died under rather suspect circumstances several years ago, during an extended winter solstice celebration at the President’s mansion. His one brother, drowning in gambling debt and facing death threats from corrupt bookies, joined the Peacekeeper corps over twenty years ago, and Plutarch hasn’t seen or heard from him since._

 

_There’s nothing left that is tying him to this place. He’s even arranged for the care of his beloved grey and yellow cockatiel, Nero. He’s wiped any traces of the plan from his apartment computer system, and he’s been assured that proper food and clothing will be provided by District 13, so there’s no need for him to even pack a suitcase. Everything will be left just as it is._

 

_Satisfied for the moment, Plutarch taps the code into his keypad, bringing up the communication box._

 

_ALL IS READY. STAND BY FOR FINAL WORD._

 

_He taps his chin as he waits. In a way he’ll miss this place, with it’s bright blue and crisp white color scheme, and the respect and admiration he earns as Head Trainer. He’s heard that District 13 is a rather somber environment, with it’s beehive-type living quarters and plain grey clothing. There also seems to be precious little time for frivolous activities, with no organized entertainment offered and very little appreciation for music or art. That will certainly have to change. Perhaps he and Miss Trinket can help liven the place up a bit when they arrive with the others._

 

_The monitor flickers as the reply arrives._

 

_UNDERSTOOD. READY TO DEPLOY ON YOUR MARK._

 

_Breathing in deeply, Plutarch taps the command to remove the box and leans back in his chair. Within a matter of days, everything will be different._

 

* * *

 

The blizzard continues for three days. Since the harsh winds and blowing snow make venturing out of the cave impossible, we don't even try to go outside, enjoying the time alone with each other. The snowfall gives us plenty of water, and although Peeta didn’t take a lot of food with him when he fled the camp, careful rationing of the food I packed for my journey has been enough to get us through, at least so far.

 

Not that Peeta has given me much of a chance to even think about going hunting. We’ve barely dressed ourselves since our toasting. One time when I slipped into my nightgown to gather snow to refill our water bottles, Peeta grabbed my waist as soon as I sat back down, pulling me into his arms and kissing me ardently, which quickly led to the nightgown being discarded once again.

 

For all of my outward stoicism, Peeta has learned exactly how to turn me into a quivering mess of desire, often with only a simple touch of his hand and a quirk of one blond eyebrow. I’ve lost count of the amount of times we’ve made love since our toasting. Slow and tender, or more passionate and fierce, Peeta and I have explored each other’s bodies so thoroughly these last couple of days, I’m certain that I’m now more familiar with his body than I am with my own.

 

Last night, by the light of the blue-flamed fire, I spent a long time counting every single freckle and mark on his face and chest, mapping them with my hands and lips. After, while I was stroking his erection, I discovered a ticklish spot on his left side, halfway between his last rib and his hipbone. His deep groan of pleasure that transformed into a laugh as my fingers brushed over that spot is a sound I never want to forget, and I may have deliberately touched that spot again more than once, just so I could hear him laugh again.

 

He’s so beautiful when he laughs, almost as beautiful as he is when we're making love. The way his jaw clenches as he approaches his climax, his shoulders tightening as his fingers dig into my hips, and the pure, unadulterated love radiating from his blue eyes, with no traces of sadness or worry, is truly incredible to witness.

 

He is simply a work of art. And now he’s mine, forever, until death parts us.

 

* * *

 

_Plutarch paces back and forth in the darkened hallway outside Minister Antonius’s office, waiting impatiently for the Minister’s secretary to arrive. The weather system blanketing Soldier Eighteen’s position has finally broken, and with Soldier Seventeen scheduled to deploy in approximately three hours, the time has come to put the plan into action._

 

_“Good evening, Mr. Heavensbee,” Effie Trinket says as she arrives. “Or should I say, good morning? I do believe it is morning by now, is it not?”_

 

_Plutarch glances at his watch, noting the time of 0300. “Technically, yes, it is morning, Miss Trinket,” he says brusquely. “Is everything ready?”_

 

_“Yes,” she replies as she heads down the hall towards the elevator, her footsteps silent on the polished marble floor. Plutarch is pleased to see that she’s followed his instructions to the letter, foregoing her usual brightly colored clothing and noisy high-heeled shoes for a simple black jumpsuit and sneakers. She’s even tied her sandy brown hair into a knot on the top of her head, instead of wearing one of her many brightly colored wigs._

 

_Making their way down to the hangar level, Plutarch notices as they enter that the four overnight hangar guards are all slumped over at their stations, apparently unconscious. He looks over at Effie, raising one bushy eyebrow in question._

 

_“I may have slipped something into their evening coffee,” Effie says with a shrug. “It seemed like a better idea than having to shoot them.”_

 

_“Quite right,” Plutarch responds, impressed. “Much quieter as well.”_

 

_They arrive at the hovercraft nearest the hangar door, chosen specifically by Plutarch for both its close proximity to the exit and for the lack of a Capitol insignia along its underbelly. This particular hovercraft was used for undercover missions many years ago, prior to the development of the Ellipses program, but lately its use has been limited to only the occasional training exercise._

 

_“You’re sure it still has the autopilot program?” Plutarch asks as they enter the access code that Effie stole from the Minister’s files, stepping back as the hatch opens with a hissing noise._

 

_“Yes,” Effie replies, stepping up into the aircraft and turning on a cabin light. “If the Minister had had it removed, I’d know about it. The man records everything.” She gives a little shudder of disgust. “And I mean everything.”_

 

_Plutarch doesn’t bother to ask what she means by ‘everything’. From what he understands of the Minister, it’s likely better that he doesn’t know. He settles into the pilot’s seat, inputting his code into the onboard computer system to call up the box he uses for communication with District 13. As soon as the box appears, he taps in the message._

 

_READY FOR HANGAR DOORS._

 

_Exactly forty-five seconds later they begin to open, the wide metal doors groaning loudly in protest. Effie buckles herself into the co-pilot’s seat as Plutarch locates the button to start the engines. He inhales a deep breath, his finger hovering over the large, red button, hesitating._

 

_There’s no turning back now. As soon as he pushes the button, he’ll have committed treason._

 

_CONTACT WHEN 100 MILES OUT FROM TARGET._

 

_The message startles him as it appears across the box on the monitor. Plutarch taps in an affirmative response, then closes out the box._

 

_Looking directly through the window at the open hangar doors, he pushes the button. The cabin starts to vibrate as the engines roar to life. Locating the throttle, he releases the locking clamps and eases up from the hangar floor. Fifteen seconds later the hovercraft is in the air, heading out into the night towards District 13._

 

* * *

 

_Minister Antonius bolts upright in his bed, awakened by the harsh ringing of his telephone. Next to him, Lucilia groans as she rolls over._

 

_Scrubbing at his eyes, he grabs the receiver, growling something that sounds like, “Yes?”_

 

_“Please pardon me for waking you, sir,” a nervous voice says on the other end. “But I believe we’ve had an incident, and I wanted to bring it to your attention as soon as possible.”_

 

_Antonius breathes in, noting the time on his clock that reads 0323. “Who in the hell is this?” he grumbles._

 

_“This is Mr. Carter, sir,” the voice replies. “I’m Trainer Four on the night shift this evening.”_

 

_His head lolling to the side in exasperation, Antonius rolls his eyes. “Any issues in the Control Room should be brought to the attention of the Head Trainer, Mr. Carter,” he says harshly. “I do not appreciate being disturbed over something like—”_

 

_“Excuse me, sir,” Carter interrupts. “But that is the problem. No one can seem to locate Mr. Heavensbee. He’s not—”_

 

_“What?” Antonius snaps, now wide awake. “What do you mean no one can locate him? Where the hell is he?”_

 

_“As I was saying, sir,” Carter continues. “He’s not here in the Control Room, and we’ve tried both his office and his apartment to no avail. It’s as if he’s simply disappeared.”_

 

_Sighing, Antonius reaches for his bedside lamp, bathing the spacious room in soft yellow light. “I’ll be down in ten minutes,” he says._

 

_“Yes, sir,” Carter replies._

 

_Hanging up the phone, Antonius pulls on his trousers and white uniform shirt, shrugging into his smart crimson coat as he exits the apartment. Nine minutes later, he arrives at the door to the Control Room._

 

_“Good evening, sir,” Carter says as he enters the room. “I’m so sorry to have to disturb—”_

 

_“What the hell is going on?” Antonius demands, cutting Carter off mid-sentence. “Where is Heavensbee?”_

 

_“We have several personnel trying to locate Mr. Heavensbee right now, sir,” Carter says. “But there’s something else I think you should see.”_

 

_Huffing in impatience, Antonius nods. “Very well.”_

 

_Carter leads the Minister over to Heavensbee’s station, tapping commands into the keypad. “Here, sir,” he says, pointing as a box appears on the screen. “It was a bit slow this evening, so I decided to conduct a backup of all the known programs that we run here in the Control Room. It’s been almost six months since all the programs were properly backed up, and that’s just asking for trouble—”_

 

_“Mr. Carter!” Antonius practically roars, drawing frightened looks from the other trainers scattered throughout the room. “Just get to the point, if you will.”_

 

_“Excuse me, sir,” Carter says, gulping. “Forgive me, sir.” He points again to the box, flickering on the monitor. “As I finished conducting the backup, there was one small program that flagged as unrecognizable by the system. So I did a little digging, and found this.”_

 

_Antonius stares at the monitor, his steely eyes narrowing. “And this is… what, exactly?”_

 

_Carter swallows hard, his eyes flicking between the monitor and Antonius’s face. “Well, sir, I’ve only had a few minutes to investigate, but… it seems to be a channel for a rudimentary form of communication.”_

 

_Antonius stares, his head jerking forward when Carter doesn’t continue. “Yes? A communications channel to where?”_

 

_They are interrupted by the trill of a ringing telephone. Antonius watches as another trainer answers the call. After a brief but tense conversation the trainer nods, looking over at himself and Mr. Carter._

 

_“Yes?” the Minister asks. “Was that Heavensbee?”_

 

_“No, sir,” the trainer replies, wincing as he shakes his head. “That was one of the guards on night duty in the hangar. It would appear, sirs, that a hovercraft has gone missing—”_

 

_“WHAT??” Antonius shouts, his voice reverberating around the round room. Breathing in a deep breath, he wills himself to calm down. He has enough trouble keeping his blood pressure under control when he’s in a good mood, it wouldn’t do him any good now to blow a cerebral blood vessel in the middle of what appears to be an unfolding crisis situation. “How in the HELL can a hovercraft simply go missing?”_

 

_“I don’t—, I don’t know, sir,” the trainer stammers, looking helplessly at Carter._

 

_Antonius closes his eyes, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turn white and fighting the urge to punch something. “Mr. Carter,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “To where, did you say, was that box used to communicate?”_

 

_Taking one small step back, Carter clears his throat. “Ah, it would appear, Minister, that it has been used to communicate… with District Thirteen.”_

 

_“District Thirteen,” Antonius repeats, so softly Carter has to strain to hear him. The hair on the back of his neck stands up as sweat starts to stream down his back, gluing his crisp white shirt to his skin. How could he have been so wrong about Heavensbee? “And what is the course for the missing hovercraft?”_

 

_“That unfortunately cannot be determined, sir,” Carter says, nodding in the direction of his collegue. “It appears that the on-board tracking system for the stolen hovercraft has been disabled.”_

 

_“I see,” Antonius says. He clears his throat, looking intently at Carter. “What is the current location of Soldier Eighteen?”_

 

_“Ah,” Carter mumbles as he taps a command into the keypad of Heavensbee’s monitor. The box disappears, replaced with a map of the eastern section of Panem, and one blinking orange dot. “His position is unchanged, Minister, roughly ten miles south of District Six. The blizzard seems to have halted his progress, at least temporarily.”_

 

_“But the weather system has cleared by now, is that correct?” Antonius snaps, his mind racing._

 

_“Yes, sir,” Carter says quickly, nodding. “Reports show clear skies and minimal winds over Eighteen’s position.”_

 

_“Very well. Mr. Carter, you're with me,” Antonius commands. “Collect Soldier Seventeen from his room, and meet me in the hangar in five minutes’ time.”_

 

_“Uhh,” Carter stammers, his mouth gaping in disbelief. He is a systems analyst, a computer specialist. He is most definitely not trained for the field. “Are you certain, sir? Perhaps someone with more experience—”_

 

_But Antonius is already at the door, his hand resting on the polished doorknob, his eyes narrowed in anger. God damn it, he will not tolerate this insolence and insubordination! “Five minutes, Mr. Carter. You and Seventeen. We have been betrayed, sir, and I intend to put a stop to it!”_

 

* * *

 

I’m disappointed when we wake to the sun shining through cracks in the rocks. The temperature has risen slightly, at least enough to melt the snow a bit, judging from the sounds of water running over the top of the cave and leaking through near the back wall. Today will be a good day to go hunting, especially since our cache of food is getting low.

 

I breathe out a contented sigh, sliding my leg across Peeta’s hips and tilting my head so I can kiss his neck. He responds by gliding his hand down my back, grabbing my backside and squeezing before rolling us so he’s hovering over me.

 

“Good morning,” Peeta murmurs, not even giving me a chance to reply as his lips descend onto mine, parting them immediately with his tongue. His kiss seems almost frantic, his hands pressing me firmly against his already hard erection. Need stirs in me instantly and I try to respond in kind, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging as he breaks away from my mouth to kiss a trail down to my breast. I arch off the sleeping bag, tipping my head back, allowing the waves of pleasure to ripple through me. It seems there’s no limit to my hunger for him.

 

In a way, being out here in the wilderness and snowed in a cave has been a stroke of luck for us. If we’d still been living in District 12 when we got married, we wouldn’t have had hardly any time for ourselves after the wedding. Peeta would’ve had to get up before dawn the next day to go to work, either in the bakery or wherever else he’d been able to find a job, and I’d be heading into the woods to hunt, as I did on most mornings. My mother told me that she and my father's wedding and toasting was held on a Sunday, because that's the only day of the week that the mines are closed. The Peacekeepers don't allow time off for personal reasons; you have to be practically at death's door to be excused from work, so there’s no such thing as an after-wedding vacation. Peeta and I have been granted a very rare gift.

 

Releasing my nipple with a soft pop, Peeta kisses his way back to my mouth before pressing our foreheads together. “Katniss,” he says, his voice raspy with fatigue and lust. “Look at me.”

 

I look into his blue eyes, flashing with desire, and a possessiveness like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “Peeta,” I gasp. “What is wrong?”

 

His eyes continue to bore into mine. “I love you, Katniss. You know that, don't you?”

 

“Of course I do,” I say, cupping his cheek. “Peeta, please tell me what’s wrong!”

 

He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just… I’m terrified to lose you, and I don't know what will happen when we try to leave here. We can't stay here forever, Katniss, you know that. They’ll find us, and—“

 

“Shh,” I say, covering his lips with my fingers. “Peeta, stop talking like that! You won’t lose me. We’re together now, no matter what. And we’ll face whatever we need to face together. You won't ever have to be alone again.”

 

“I know,” he replies, pressing his lips to my fingers. “But I just need to make sure. No matter what happens after we leave this place, you need to remember that I love you.”

 

“I couldn’t ever forget it,” I murmur, tugging on his neck to bring his lips back to mine. He doesn’t say anything else, but as his hands and mouth begin to roam over my body, I notice an almost desperation to his kisses and caresses, as if he’s trying to brand the feel of me into his skin, like those three hateful dots by his left earlobe.

 

Pulling away from my mouth, he starts trailing kisses down my neck and sternum to my abdomen, dipping his tongue into my belly button before continuing further down. My breath hitches as he plants tiny kisses along the inside of my thighs, my body tensing in anticipation of the first swipe of his tongue over my center.

 

In no time at all he has me writhing and chanting his name, at the complete mercy of his fingers and tongue. As my climax washes over me, my cries echoing off the walls of the cave, he crawls back up my body and enters me in one swift stroke, triggering an aftershock almost as intense as my initial climax.

 

“Tell me you love me, Katniss,” Peeta grunts as he thrusts into me, his eyes blackened with desire. “I need to hear it. I need to remember it.”

 

“I love you!” I choke out. His right hand reaches for my left, bringing it up near my head and intertwining our fingers. “Peeta, I love you, I’ll always love you!”

 

“Katniss!” Peeta cries out, his teeth catching on his bottom lip, his neck muscles straining with the effort of holding himself back. “Come with me, love, please! I need to feel you!”

 

Reaching underneath me, Peeta’s left hand lifts me up to meet him as I wrap my legs around his waist, and with a final hard thrust I shatter, fluttering wildly around him as he comes with a loud cry of my name, filling me with his warmth. His head drops against my chest, his fingers still interlaced with mine as he catches his breath. I run my other hand through his sweaty curls, trying to soothe away whatever demons are tormenting him.

 

“I’m sorry, Katniss,” he murmurs a couple minutes later. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

 

“It’s okay,” I say, wishing not for the first time that I was as capable with words as Peeta.

 

Turning his head, he plants one more kiss to my chest before lifting himself off of me and gathering me close. We remain like this for several minutes, knowing we should get dressed and venture out to start looking for food, but not wanting to leave the comfort of each other’s arms.

 

“We should probably get going,” Peeta finally mumbles, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

 

“Yeah,” I reply, still making no attempt to move. I have no wish to leave this sanctuary of ours, our first home together.

 

“We can just look for food today,” he says, as if reading my mind. “We don’t have to leave here quite yet. With all the snow, we should be okay for a couple more days.”

 

“That sounds good,” I say, squeezing him one more time before getting to my feet. I pull on my clothes, then change the bandage on Peeta’s leg. The wound is looking the best that I’ve ever seen it, with no swelling or oozing, and a nice thick scab covering the deep gash. The evidence of healing makes my heart soar with hope. Maybe there is a chance it will fully heal someday, as long as we’re able to take good care of him.

 

“Okay,” I say to Peeta once he’s dressed, slinging my quiver and game bag across my back. “Are you ready?”

 

“Yep,” he replies as he finishes double-knotting his boots. Then he stands to his feet and takes my hand, holding it like he’s afraid to let go.

 

* * *

 

_Plutarch is leaning back in the pilot’s seat, dozing, when an alarm begins to blare. The loud noise startles him awake._

 

_“What is that?” he asks Effie, looking quizzically at the control panel._

 

_“I’m not sure,” she answers. She begins to press various buttons, hoping to silence the alarm. Just then the communication box appears on the screen._

 

_CAPITOL HOVERCRAFT IN PROXIMITY. TAKE EVASIVE ACTION._

 

_“Shit!” Plutarch mutters, grimacing as the monitor changes to show a blinking red dot approaching their position. “How do I do that?”_

 

_But he doesn’t have a chance to even attempt an evasive maneuver as the pursuing hovercraft flies directly overhead, continuing along their same course._

 

_The screen changes back to the message box._

 

_HOVERCRAFT AIMING FOR 18’S POSITION. GROUND TEAM IS READY._

 

_“Shit!” Plutarch says again, looking for the control to increase the speed. He’d hoped it would take a bit longer for Minister Antonius to figure out what had happened. Someone in the Control Room must’ve found something._

 

_“We’re almost there,” Effie says, pointing again to the screen, showing the red dot of their hovercraft within about fifty miles of the orange dot indicating Soldier Eighteen’s position. “Intercept in six minutes!”_

 

* * *

 

The snow outside the cave is deep, up to my calves, so Peeta takes the lead as we walk to mark a path for me to follow. Venturing deeper into the woods, we take up a position in a clump of trees while I observe our surroundings, trying to get my bearings. It’s an absolutely glorious day, with the crisp white snow blanketing across the dark green of the forest. Winter birds are fluttering about in the treetops, chirping and singing as they collect seeds and insects. Flocks of ugly grey and black geese are flying about, honking their greetings, and as we walked here I could see footprints left behind in the snow by squirrels and rabbits. As long as we’re patient, we should be able to find something out here.

 

Spotting a couple geese separating from their flock, I nod towards Peeta, indicating for him to stay behind while I step out into a small clearing. Notching an arrow, I slowly draw it back, aiming for the larger of the two geese.

 

A loud roaring noise overhead startles both me and the geese, and I watch in frustration as my arrow sails untouched through the branches of a tree. Looking up, my heart nearly stops as I see the grey form of a hovercraft bearing the Capitol insignia appear suddenly over the treetops, as if out of nowhere, and start lowering towards the ground.

 

“Peeta!” I scream, turning and slogging back through the heavy snow towards the clump of trees where I left him. “Peeta!”

 

“Katniss!” he yells back, rushing out to meet me, pulling me back towards the trees. He plants a quick kiss on my forehead before lifting me up onto one of the lower tree branches. “Climb, Katniss! Get up there and stay hidden!”

 

But I only shake my head, refusing to move. “No! I won’t leave you behind!” Jumping back down, I stubbornly square my shoulders. “We stay together!”

 

“SOLDIER EIGHTEEN,” a voice booms from the hovercraft, which has now landed about fifty yards away. “RETAIN YOUR POSITION FOR RETRIEVAL!”

 

“Peeta, no!” I cry, but my voice is drowned out by the appearance of another hovercraft, this one a plain grey color, landing approximately one hundred yards away in the opposite direction.

 

Peeta’s large hands cup my cheeks, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. He’s terrified, his blue eyes dilated in fear and his hands shaking. “Katniss, listen to me. I love you—”

 

“No!” I say, interrupting him. “I’m not going to leave you!”

 

But he continues on as if he didn’t hear me. “I love you so much, Katniss, but you need to go now.” Tears well in his eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks, flushed pink from the cold. “Please, love. I need to keep you safe, so you need to climb up there and—”

 

“Soldier Eighteen!” a voice shouts from behind Peeta, causing us both to look in his direction. A man has disembarked from the hovercraft, dressed in a black uniform, much like the one Peeta was wearing when Gale and Rory found him in the woods. A helmet hides his face and head, and he’s carrying a black rifle, the end of which is pointed directly at Peeta.

 

“Soldier Eighteen,” the man repeats, still advancing towards us. “Stand down, Soldier!”

 

Peeta steps in front of me, shielding me with his body. “You let her go,” he calls to the man. “I’ll surrender if you let her go.”

 

“Peeta, no!” I grab onto his trembling arm, my eyes frantically searching for a way out of this trap but finding nothing. I know the soldier’s rifle is faster than my arrow, so even if I could notch and draw it back without him noticing, he could easily shoot and kill Peeta before the arrow would get to him. And who knows how many other soldiers or Peacekeepers are still on the hovercraft.

 

The man shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that, Soldier. We leave no witnesses!”

 

“You’ll have to kill me to get to her,” Peeta says, his strong jaw tightly set as he stares down the advancing trooper. “And I know you don’t really want to do that.” He takes a step forward, his full lips curling into a sly grin. “No. You won’t kill me, because you want to know what went wrong with me. You want to know why all your brainwashing and training didn’t work on me. Isn’t that true, Minister Antonius?”

 

I watch as the trooper halts his advance, lowering his weapon as he presses his hand over his ear, apparently listening to instructions. A few seconds later another man, dressed in the crimson uniform of a Capitol official, appears at the hovercraft’s entrance, exiting down the ramp and following the path through the snow made by the soldier.

 

“Well, hello there, Soldier Eighteen,” the man, presumably this Minister Antonius, says. “How nice to see you again.”

 

Peeta sets his jaw, staring him down. “You let her go.”

 

Antonius shakes his head, an evil grin spreading across his thin lips. “Now, now,” he chortles. “I will say, you have always shown yourself to be an unconventional recruit, but I never imagined that you would obtain your target in such a way as this.” He claps his gloved hands, still walking slowly towards us. “Very clever on your part, Soldier.”

 

Peeta’s arm freezes beneath my hand just as the meaning of the Minister’s words washes over me, my blood turning as cold as the fallen snow surrounding us.

 

_I never imagined that you would obtain your target like this…_

 

Oh my God. _I_ was Peeta’s target. He’d been deployed to District 12 to capture _me_ . My stomach clenches into a tight ball of ice as my mouth goes bone dry. That night, when Gale and Rory found him in the woods, he’d been sent to find _me._

 

_Why me, of all people? I'm no one important. I’m just a girl from District Twelve._

 

 _But it didn’t work,_ I immediately think. Peeta had plenty of opportunities to kill or capture me over these past months, but he didn’t. I am living proof that whatever training or brainwashing they tried to do to him, it didn’t work.

 

Peeta couldn’t kill me, because he loves me.

 

“You let her go,” Peeta repeats in a low, threatening voice. “I will only surrender if you agree to let her go.”

 

The Minister hesitates, and in that split second of indecision, Peeta reaches behind me, yanking an arrow from my quiver and pointing the arrowhead against his neck, directly over his pulsing artery.

 

“No, Peeta, don’t!” I shriek. “Please don’t!”

 

“You want me?” he yells to the shocked Minister, ignoring my pleas. “You want to study me, to figure out where you went wrong? You let her go, or I’ll end it right here!”

 

Just then a large, weathered hand wraps around my shoulder, yanking me away from Peeta and back behind a tree as I cry out in protest. As I’m shoved to the ground, I look up to see a pair of stormy grey eyes staring down at me from under a mop of unkempt dark hair, streaked with silver. It’s a man, and from the looks of him, he appears to be originally from District 12.

 

“No! Peeta, no!” I cry, watching helplessly as Peeta looks over at me, mouthing the words _I love you_ as he tosses the arrow into the snow and begins to chant.

 

“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m eighteen years old. I’m from District Twelve. I refuse to be a piece—“

 

Then the soldier is on him, butting him in the back of his head with his rifle. I scream hysterically as Peeta falls to his knees. I try to stand up, to go after him, but as soon as the dark-haired man senses me moving his arms wrap around me and hold tight.

 

“We can't help him now, Sweetheart,” his hoarse voice says into my ear. “Our hovercraft isn’t armed, but theirs is. They could blow us right out of here with one shot.”

 

“I don't care!” I wail as Antonius pulls a large syringe filled with bright yellow liquid from the pocket of his coat and grabs a handful of Peeta’s hair, yanking his head back. I watch in horror, still struggling to break free, as the needle plunges into Peeta’s neck and he immediately slumps over, unconscious.

 

“No!” I shout, struggling against the man’s ironclad grip as Peeta is dragged onto the Capitol hovercraft and it lifts off from the snow-covered ground. “Let me go! Don’t let them take him from me!”

 

“Nothing we can do, Sweetheart,” the man rasps into my ear. “This whole plan has been blown all to hell. We’re lucky enough to get you in one piece!”

 

“Who are you?” I demand, turning to look into his grey eyes, almost the same color as Gale’s. “How did you know Peeta would be here?”

 

“My name is Haymitch Abernathy,” he growls, scowling. “I’m a friend of your father’s.” He hauls me to my feet, half-dragging me through the snow towards the second hovercraft as its engines roar to life.

 

“My father?” I gasp, looking up to the sky, where the hovercraft that took Peeta has now disappeared. “How do you know my father?”

 

“There’ll be plenty of time for your questions later,” he grumbles as he lifts me onto the hovercraft ramp. “Right now, you need to come with me if you want to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This chapter was hard to write. It never fails to break my heart when Peeta and Katniss are separated. :(
> 
> I'm anxious to hear your thoughts! Please don't forget to leave me a comment! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's left me kudos and comments so far! I appreciate each and every single comment!
> 
> I also need to thank DandelionSunset for betaing this chapter. Be sure to check out her stories, she's an amazing author! :)
> 
> This chapter picks up right where we left off in the last chapter.

As soon as the ramp to the hovercraft groans to a close, I shove Haymitch Abernathy off of me and drop to the floor next to the wall, curling into a tight ball with my head in my hands. I have no desire to speak to or even look at these people, who just stood by and watched while Peeta was captured.

 

Peeta. My lover, my husband, taken back to the Capitol, back to where those horrible people tortured him, tried to change him. Tried to turn him into a robotic killing machine to send after me, the girl he loves.

 

 _And he does love me,_ I think stubbornly as I shiver in my cold, wet clothes. _Nothing they do to him could ever change that._

 

“Katniss?” says a woman’s voice, startling me. “Katniss, my dear, why don't you come up here where it’s more comfortable?” A small hand touches my shoulder, tentatively, and I immediately jerk away.

 

“Don’t touch me,” I mutter, my voice low and threatening. I’m not used to people touching me, besides Peeta or my family. “Don’t talk to me. Just leave me alone.”

 

“Leave her be, Effie,” Haymitch says in his gruff voice as he drops a blanket at my feet. “She’s had quite a shock. Give her some time.”

 

Wrapping myself in the blanket, I let out a morbid chuckle. Anyone who thinks that only the simple passage of time will be any help to me is flat-out wrong. There is no possible amount of time that will change the fact that Peeta’s just been ripped away from me. Again.

 

“Very well,” the woman, Effie, says. “We’ll be arriving in Thirteen in about an hour.”

 

That gets my attention. “What?” I say, peeking through my numb fingers. “We’re going where?”

 

A sly grin stretches across Haymitch’s face. “District Thirteen,” he says.

 

“District Thirteen doesn’t exist,” I grumble. “It was destroyed a long time ago.”

 

We’d been taught ever since we started school that District 13 was mainly responsible for the Dark Days rebellion, and as a result of that rebellion had been bombed to dust. Footage of the still-smoking ruins of the former graphite-mining district were shown on a regular basis in propaganda films during school lessons, and anytime there were communication broadcasts from the Capitol.

 

“That’s what the Capitol wants us to believe,” Haymitch says. “But trust me, I’ve been living there for a lot of years now. It's definitely a real place.”

 

“And the folks there are going to be very happy to see you, Miss Everdeen,” another man’s voice says as he emerges from the cockpit of the hovercraft. He grins, extending his plump hand. “Plutarch Heavensbee, former Head Trainer under Minister Antonius in the Capitol. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Head Trainer?” I look up at the rotund man, with his bushy eyebrows and a smirk lighting his pale face. A scowl curls my lips, my fingernails digging into my scalp as I realize the meaning behind his title. “You’re one of them! The people who took my father! Who took Peeta!”

 

In an instant I’m on my feet, my hands reaching to lock around Plutarch Heavensbee’s thick neck. Haymitch is able to grab me only just in time, wrapping his arms around me as I kick and scream and try to bite his hands.

 

“Let me go!” I scream, so loud that Effie covers her ears and runs towards the front of the hovercraft. “He took my father! He took Peeta! What is he doing here?”

 

“Try and calm down, Sweetheart!” Haymitch rasps into my ear. “We can explain everything to you, but you need to calm down! You’re not gonna take down the entire Capitol on your own!”

 

“Take down the Capitol?” I ask, incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

 

“We can explain everything once we arrive,” Plutarch says. I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to wipe that stupid smirk off his round face. “After we go through quarantine.”

 

“After we do what?” I snap.

 

“District Thirteen has very strict quarantine procedures,” Haymitch explains. “Anyone who’s new to the district must complete a forty-eight hour hold to ensure no communicable diseases are brought in.”

 

“There was a pox epidemic that swept through the district about ten years ago,” Effie adds. “It killed hundreds. And with their society almost completely underground, they can’t afford to take any chances.”

 

My mind spinning from all this new information, I can only nod. Effie again offers me a more comfortable seat, but I refuse, lowering my head back to my knees, trying not to think about what that horrible Minister Antonius is going to do to Peeta, and instead thinking of nothing else. Tears prick my eyes, and a choked sob escapes my throat at the thought of what will happen to him, now that he’s shown he can resist their soldier training.

 

“Peeta…” I whisper as the tears spill over, rolling down my cheeks. Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d died from his wounds, back when Gale found him near District 12. Maybe then I’d still be with my mother and Prim, and Rue would still be alive, and… Peeta wouldn't be on his way back to the Capitol, to be tortured and brainwashed until there’s nothing left of him except an empty shell.

 

My hands fist into my hair, the very hair that Peeta stroked so lovingly as we gave ourselves to each other only a couple hours ago. I remember the possessive look in his eyes as he took me this morning, the urgency behind his kisses and caresses, and it suddenly hits me that he must’ve suspected something was going to happen.

 

Somehow, Peeta knew that Minister Antonius was after him, that he would be re-captured. It’s why he kept asking me to tell him I love him. He said he needed to hear it, to remember it, because he knew he might never hear it again. He knew, as soon as we stepped out of that cave, that he might never return.

 

A terrible pain seizes my chest and I gasp, curling into myself even tighter. I told Peeta during our toasting that I would protect him, always, until death parts us. And now, with the first chance I had to do so, I’ve failed him miserably.

 

_I’m so sorry, Peeta._

 

As soon as we land, Plutarch, Effie, and I are shuffled directly from the hovercraft into a plastic-walled corridor that ends with a bank of showerheads protruding from a concrete wall. An attendant wearing a plastic suit and helmet takes my game bag, bow, and arrows before guiding me over to one of the showerheads. Handing me a bar of strong-smelling soap, I’m instructed to strip out of my clothes and wash my skin and hair. Although the warm shower water feels refreshing flowing over my freezing limbs, it’s mortifying to be observed while I’m bathing. Up until now the only people who’ve ever seen me without clothes on are my mother and Peeta, and I’ve never been comfortable with brazen nudity. Also, the soap I’m given is gritty, not unlike the type that Hazelle Hawthorne uses to wash laundry, and it stings my skin and eyes as I rinse the greyish suds from my body.

 

Once I’m sufficiently clean I’m instructed to stand in front of an automatic drying machine. I'm then handed a dress to put on that seems to be made out of some kind of paper, and after combing out my hair, the attendant ushers me into a tiny rectangular room with a single padded bench against the back wall, a door that must lead to a bathroom, and a television monitor hanging from the ceiling.  


"Miss Everdeen?" a voice comes over a loudspeaker, startling me. "Welcome to District Thirteen. In a few minutes, two doctors will come in to your room to draw some blood and give you a physical exam. Please do not be alarmed, we’re only trying to help you."

  
  
They're speaking to me like I'm a spooked animal, which sums up my current mood quite well.

 

“All right,” I reply warily. “Then what?”

 

"Our protocols require a minimum of forty-eight hours before people in quarantine can be cleared,” the voice continues. “After that, you will be released and allowed to join your companions.”

 

 _My companions,_ I think bitterly. Two people from the Capitol who were complicit in Peeta’s capture, and some man from Twelve who claims to have known my father, but who’s been living in District 13 for years.

 

I can’t trust any of them. I am truly alone.

 

Right then the door opens, and two people dressed in the same plastic suits enter the room, each carrying a white square case.

 

"Don't be afraid, Miss Everdeen," one of them says, the strange helmet they're wearing making it hard for me to tell if it's a man or a woman. "We're only here to perform your exam. I promise we're not here to hurt you.”

 

Gulping, I nod, following the doctor’s instructions to lie down on the bench, close my eyes, and try to think of happy things. My mind immediately goes to Peeta, of our time in the cave, and the way his long eyelashes glowed golden in the light of the fire as his strong body moved above me. Sometimes, when he was sleeping or otherwise occupied, I’d study those eyelashes, wondering how they managed to not tangle together when he blinked.

  
The exam takes hours. I have to lie, completely naked, as the two doctors poke and prod and x-ray and scan pretty much every inch of me. They remove all the hair from my legs, arms, torso, underarms, and nether regions, on the concern that I might be carrying surface contagions. They also take what appears to be a huge amount of blood from my arm, which leaves me feeling dizzy and weak. When all is said and done, I feel like a plucked bird, ready for roasting, and am absolutely starving.

 

“That’s all for now,” the lead doctor finally says, handing me my paper dress. I watch numbly as they pack up their equipment. “We will process these results and have a dinner tray sent in.” He gestures to the television screen. “Feel free to turn on something to watch.”

 

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice nothing more than a whisper. As soon as the door to my room closes I slump back down onto the bench, my knees pressed against my chest.

 

_Peeta. Where are you? I need you._

 

* * *

 

_"Katniss!" Peeta croaks as he comes to, his mouth bone-dry and with a lingering metallic taste, a side effect of the tracker jacker venom Minister Antonius shot into his neck. He groans with discomfort as he shifts, nearly every inch of his body screaming in protest at the movement. His eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed with sandpaper as he forces them open, blinking as he realizes he’s lying flat on the freezing concrete floor of a cell._

 

_He’s back in the Capitol. The Training Center, to be exact, where Peacekeepers are trained and equipped prior to receiving their district assignments._

 

_Except Peeta’s not a Peacekeeper, and no one save Minister Antonius and his underlings in the Control Room know about the existence of the hidden third floor, where the soldiers of the super-secret Ellipses program are trained and deployed. The place where they’re conditioned to return following the completion of their missions. The place they are forced to call home for as long as the Minister deems them useful._

 

_Peeta gingerly reaches a hand to his throbbing head, to the spot where the soldier butted him with his rifle, the movement causing his stomach to pitch and roll. Out of the corner of his eye he notices a white bandage wrapped around his forearm, stained red with blood. They must have removed his tracker once he was on board the hovercraft. Wouldn’t want the other folks knowing how to find him anymore, would they?_

 

_He doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious, but judging from the dose of venom he received, and the fact that he can still see remnants of daylight streaming in through the small, square window in his cell, he assumes that it’s only been a few hours. Likely only long enough for the transport back to the Capitol._

 

_His dry eyes fill with hot, salty tears, which burn as they slip over his lids and down the sides of his head. He’d feared something like this was coming. The small jolt he felt in his left arm only a few minutes after he and Katniss had sealed the bonds of their toasting, the slight tingling sensation that he tried to brush off as the lingering effects of their lovemaking, was instead his implanted tracker returning to life. Ever since that moment they’d been living on borrowed time, the ongoing blizzard their only refuge from the events that were sure to follow._

 

_His hands clench painfully into fists, his stomach tightening into a solid ball of iron at the thought of his precious Katniss being captured by Antonius. He’d nearly fainted with relief when she was snatched from behind him as he held the arrow up to his neck. Whoever that person was, or where they came from, he owes them a debt he likely will never get a chance to repay._

 

_Thoughts of Katniss bring more tears to his eyes, as he wonders if he will ever see her again. Ever feel the silkiness of her hair sliding through his fingers, the look of her molten silver eyes as they gaze into his own, the sound of her breathy, musical voice singing to him, and telling him she loves him._

 

_I’m so sorry, Katniss, he thinks. I promised to protect you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t._

 

_He hopes against hope that wherever she is, wherever those people took her, that it’s somewhere safe, where no one will ever hunt her again. Maybe she can even be returned to her family someday, to her mother and her beloved sister, from whom he selfishly ripped her away when he killed that Peacekeeper and started this whole mess._

 

_The sound of a heavy metal door opening down the hall interrupts his thoughts, followed by two sets of footsteps, one of which is the clacking sound of polished leather boots. He doesn’t bother to raise his head, knowing the movement will only trigger another swirl of nausea and more throbbing in his temples._

 

_“My name is Peeta Mellark,” he mumbles. “I’m eighteen years old. I'm in love with Katniss Everdeen. I’m from District Twelve. My favorite color is orange, like the sunset—”_

 

_"Well, well, Soldier," the slimy voice of Minister Antonius interrupts Peeta as he reaches the cell. "You certainly know how to put on a show, don't you?"_

 

_Peeta searches for an appropriate sarcastic response, but his pounding head makes it difficult. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” he finally rasps, squeezing his eyes closed at the pain that follows._

 

_Instead of replying, Antonius unlocks the cell door, stepping inside. Cracking open one eye, Peeta watches as the soldier who captured him, still wearing his helmet, crouches down next to him, as if he’s sizing him up._

 

_“I don’t want to kill you, Soldier Eighteen,” Antonius says quietly, dangerously. “Not yet, at least. First, I want to make you suffer, as I have suffered ever since you disobeyed me.”_

 

_In a flash, the soldier’s gloved hand grabs Peeta’s hair, lifting his head as his fist connects hard with Peeta’s face, the sickening crack of his nose breaking echoing off the concrete walls of the cell._

 

_“Aaahh!” Peeta cries, curling his head into his hands as his mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood. Tears leak from behind his closed lids, mixing with the blood streaming down in rivulets from his nose._

 

_Through the blinding pain he draws in a shaky breath, forcing his eyes open to look directly at Minister Antonius. “My name is Peeta Mellark,” he starts. “I’m eighteen years old. I’m in love with Katniss Everdeen. I’m from District Twelve. My favorite color is orange, like—”_

 

_“Then, I want to know what happened,” Antonius continues, speaking over Peeta’s mantra as if he didn’t even hear him. “I want to know how you were able to resist the training methods that I have carefully perfected over years of my life!” He nods at the soldier, who immediately gets to his feet, pulls back his right leg and kicks Peeta directly in the ribs. Peeta again cries out, tears welling in his eyes at the searing pain as he chokes on a mouthful of blood, sputtering droplets of bright red onto the cold grey floor._

 

_“No, Soldier,” Antonius says. “I am not going to kill you. Not until I get to the bottom of why you defied me.”_

 

_Peeta brings his palm to his side, the sharp pain with each inhale likely indicating broken ribs. He slowly draws in another breath, gritting his teeth._

 

_“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m eighteen years old. I’m in love with Katniss Everdeen. I’m from District Twelve. My favorite color is orange—”_

 

_“You will be silent!” the Minister roars, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “And you will do as you are told!” Peeta screams as the soldier lands another kick to his side, directly above the previous kick. “And don’t think for one second that any of the people who helped you will escape punishment, Soldier. For as we speak, hoverbombers under my command are heading for District Twelve. Your precious district will be bombed into oblivion in the next couple of hours, just as District Thirteen was all those years ago.”_

 

_“No!” Peeta chokes out, wincing as sharp, piercing pain ripples throughout his body. Bombing Twelve will most likely kill everyone who lives there, including Katniss’s family, leaving her with nothing. Using all of his available strength, he lifts his head to look at the Minister. “Please, don’t punish the entire district because of me! I didn’t mean—”_

 

_“Oh, you didn’t mean, did you?” Antonius snaps. “Then perhaps you should’ve thought about the consequences of your actions before you decided to break your orders and defy me!”_

 

_“I didn’t—” Peeta mumbles, but he’s cut off with another swift kick, this time to his midsection, leaving him writhing on the floor, choking and gasping for breath._

 

_“That’s enough for now,” Antonius says to the soldier. “Let him think about things for awhile. We can continue in the morning.”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” the soldier replies. Through the ringing in his ears, Peeta hears him stand and walk to the door, followed by Antonius’s sharp footsteps. He hears the heavy door close and the slide of a key as it’s locked._

 

_The last thought that crosses his mind before he passes out from the overwhelming pain, is that, for some reason, the voice of the soldier who beat him seemed eerily familiar._

 

* * *

 

The forty-eight hours that I’m in quarantine are the longest two days of my entire life, with nothing to distract me from the fact that I’m alone in a very strange place. Food is brought three times per day by a nurse dressed in the same kind of plastic suit as the doctors who examined me, but otherwise I’m left by myself, with only the television and my thoughts to entertain me.

 

And my thoughts aren’t very good company right now.

 

I can’t sleep, can’t close my eyes without falling into a nightmare. Over and over I see Peeta stabbed in the neck, see him cry out as he falls to his knees, see him dragged away from me while I scream, helpless to stop them from taking him from me. The nurse offers me pills to help me sleep, but they only trap me in the nightmares, making it impossible to break free until the effects of the drug wear off.

 

Finally, on the morning of the third day, the nurse shows up with my breakfast dressed in a regular medical uniform. “You’ve been cleared,” she says, handing me the tray, a bundle of grey fabric, and a pair of dark brown shoes with laces. “After you’re done eating, go ahead and get dressed. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.”

 

I scowl as I accept the food and clothing. “Who’s everyone?”

 

“Oh, you know,” she replies as she heads out the door. “Everyone.”

 

“Fine,” I grumble at the door as it locks behind her. Sitting back down on the bench, I pick at the breakfast tray, consisting of a bowl of porridge, a piece of dark bread, and a cup of water. Always the same thing, with not even a drop of honey to sweeten the porridge or soften the bread. We had better food back in District 12.

 

Once I’m finished eating I unfold and shake out the clothing, eyeing it critically. There’s a plain white cotton bra and panties, both slightly frayed around the edges. The high-waisted pants and button-down shirt are both grey twill and look faded, like they've been washed hundreds of times, and the black socks have been darned at least twice.

 

I wonder who wore these things before me. And the stiff fabric feels uncomfortable against my freshly bared skin.

 

I’ve just finished braiding my hair when the door unlocks and the nurse announces that I’m free to go. As she retreats back down the hall, Plutarch Heavensbee’s large body suddenly fills the doorway, along with Haymitch Abernathy, both dressed in the same grey clothes as me. They’re accompanied by a tall man with dark skin and no hair who must be a member of the District 13 military, since he’s wearing a green and black uniform and carrying a pistol in a holster attached to his belt.

 

“Good morning, Miss Everdeen,” Plutarch says as he smiles, his eyes crinkling so much they nearly close completely. “You already know Haymitch, so allow me to present District Thirteen’s Head of Security, Commander Boggs.”

 

Nodding at Commander Boggs, I get straight to the point. “When can we rescue Peeta?”

 

Plutarch huffs out a breath, glancing over at Boggs, who purses his lips. “Miss Everdeen, there’s a lot going on here that you don’t understand. If you’ll come with us, please—”

 

“No,” I snap, shaking my head. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me when we can rescue Peeta.” I glare at Plutarch, trying to hide his smirk. “You were after him, weren’t you? You somehow knew where we were. Only Minister Antonius got to him first.”

 

Haymitch clears his throat. “There are several things we need to discuss first, Sweetheart,” he says. “So if you’ll come with us—”

 

“No!” I repeat, glaring at Haymitch before pointing my finger in Plutarch’s face. “If you were the Head Trainer, like you said, then you know we need to get Peeta out of there as soon as possible! Before there’s nothing left of him!”

 

"Peeta isn’t the only political prisoner currently being held by the Capitol, and a rescue mission is on our list of plans,” Boggs says firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “But right now, President Coin has asked for you to join our briefing." He gestures to the hallway beyond the door. "This way, Miss Everdeen, if you please."

 

I sigh, willing the tears welling in my eyes to stay put. I still don’t trust Plutarch Heavensbee as far as I can throw him. Or Haymitch, for that matter. But this Boggs seems different. He seems kinder, more understanding despite his authoritativeness.

 

“Okay,” I finally say, my voice quavering.

 

Boggs leads us down a series of corridors and up ten levels to the Command Center. As we walk I decide there’s no way I'll ever get used to finding my way around this place when all of the hallways look exactly the same, with the walls a pale grey color and the floors grey linoleum. Everyone we pass is wearing the same grey clothing as well. Peeta, with his artistic eyes and love of brightness, would not do well in this place. The lack of color would surely drive him mad over time.

 

Several minutes later we finally reach a red door marked COMMAND. Boggs raps on the door twice with his knuckles before opening it and stepping back, indicating for us to enter.

 

A long, grey, rectangular table sits in the middle of the room, with something that looks like a white writing board lining one wall, and several television monitors lining another. Several people are sitting around the table, all dressed in the same grey uniform. One of them, a woman around age fifty or so, with grey hair that falls in an unbroken sheet to her shoulders, eyes me critically as I take a seat near one of the corners.

 

“Katniss Everdeen,” Plutarch says, indicating the woman as he pulls out a chair opposite me. “President Alma Coin.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Everdeen,” President Coin says, nodding in my direction. “Welcome to District Thirteen.”

 

“Hello,” I reply dully, already feeling the effects of my recent lack of sleep.

 

President Coin doesn’t seem like one for pleasantries or small talk, so once everyone is seated, she leans her elbows on the table and clears her throat. The room goes silent instantly.

 

“Now then,” she begins. “What is the first order of business?”

 

“Communications,” pipes up a man sitting at the opposite end of the table. He looks to be in his mid-to-late forties, with dark, thinning hair and large black glasses. “Now that the Capitol’s discovered our covert communications program, we need to come up with a new one. And fast.”

 

“Very well,” Coin says. “That’s our first priority.” She turns to Boggs. “What is the status of the revolting districts?”

 

My head snaps up and I glance quickly at Haymitch, but he seems to be making a point to ignore me. _Revolting districts?_ I think. _What is going on?_

 

“Standard inter-district communication channels are currently down in most of the districts,” Boggs replies. “Beetee’s working on getting them back, but between that and trying to get through to our agents who are still undercover, he's pretty overwhelmed.”

 

“All right,“ Coin responds. She turns to the man with the black glasses, apparently named Beetee. “Procure whatever personnel you require to get the job done as soon as possible.”

 

“Thank you,” Beetee replies. He immediately drops his head back to the paperwork strewn across his end of the table and starts mumbling under his breath.

 

The discussion continues for a long time, turning next to the pending quarantine clearance of the agent from District 4, and I find my mind wandering after a few minutes. I scrape my fingernail along a line in the wood grain of the table, occasionally watching President Coin out of the corner of my eye, trying to determine if her sleek grey hair is real or only a wig.

 

I’ve just about made up my mind to get up and walk out, identical hallways be damned, when there’s a loud knock at the door. At Coin’s nod Boggs moves to answer it, accepting a small piece of paper from a messenger and handing it to Coin. I watch intently as she reads the message, her pale grey eyes flicking over to Haymitch and me for a split second, then back to the paper.

 

“What is it?” I blurt out. “What’s happened?”

 

Coin sighs, glancing at Plutarch in apparent frustration before trailing her gaze around the people seated at the table. “I’ve just received word of an attack on District Twelve—”

 

“No!” My heart drops into my stomach as my breath catches in my throat. Next to me, I hear Haymitch gasp.

 

“Capitol hoverbombers have attacked District Twelve,” Coin continues in an even voice, ignoring my outburst. “Reports intercepted from the Capitol by the agent in District Eight report massive destruction and loss of life—”

 

“You need to help them!” I shriek, wondering how in the world President Coin is able to talk about the complete destruction of a district in such a regular, conversational tone. “District Twelve is defenseless! It’s my home! My family is there!”

 

"We aren’t yet sure of the extent of the damage done to Twelve, Miss Everdeen,” Plutarch says, trying to placate me. “Our communications with some of the districts are still sketchy, and—"

 

"No!" I say as I frantically shake my head. I look over at Haymitch, pleading with my eyes. "That's not good enough! You were able to send people after Peeta and me, why can’t you—”

 

“Miss Everdeen!” Coin snaps, standing to her feet and leaning over the table. “District Twelve is not the only district in Panem that needs our help! This revolution is about all of us!”

 

Tears streak down my face as I stare at this heartless excuse for a leader. “Please,” I beg. “We have no way to defend ourselves in Twelve. The people there, many are weak, and starving. If you don’t help them, you’ll have condemned them all to die.”

 

Coin glares at me for several seconds before returning to her seat. She exchanges a glance with Boggs. "Can it be done without being seen?" she asks him.

 

Boggs nods. "Yes, if we fly low enough, we should be able to escape detection from the Capitol’s radar. Flying low uses more fuel, but the proximity to Twelve is close enough that we should be okay."

 

"Mmmhmm," Coin replies, looking back at me. "Then, am I to assume that any cooperation you give us is contingent on us checking on your home district?"

 

"Cooperation?" I ask angrily. "What do you need from me? And why should I have to cooperate with something in order for you to rescue people who are in trouble?”

 

Plutarch starts clapping his hands. "You are perfect!" he says, looking triumphantly towards President Coin. "Madame President, I know she wasn’t our first choice, but I believe she's perfect for us. That anger, that defiance, that's what we need as the face of this revolution!"

 

_First choice? First choice for what?_

 

Coin glares at me. "Very well," she says, her voice never wavering. "I'll authorize a covert mission to check on District Twelve. If, Miss Everdeen, you agree to join our cause."

 

"You need to do more than check on them!" I plead. "You need to bring the people here! I need my family here!"

 

“You are in no position to make demands here, Miss Everdeen,” Coin says as she stands again to her feet. Nodding once at Boggs, she checks some strange writing on her forearm and calmly leaves the room, followed by most everyone else at the table. I stay where I am, watching as they all leave.

 

I look over at Boggs as soon as the door clicks shut. “We’ll find the survivors, Katniss,” he says as he moves to exit the room. “I promise.”

 

“Thank you,” I say quietly. Wrapping my arms around myself, I lean against the table, the dull ache in my chest growing sharper at the thought that my entire family might now be nothing more than piles of ash. My mom and sweet sister Prim, tall, proud Gale, tiny but strong Posy, and the rest of the Hawthornes, all dead. It’s too much for my mind to even contemplate, and I double over as I let out a strangled gasp, my body shaking with the effort of holding back my screams of horror.

 

Another loud rap at the door startles me back upright. Haymitch moves to open it, admitting a man dressed in grey. Tall, athletic, with golden hair, bronze skin, and bright sea-green eyes, I suppose some people would call him beautiful. My only thought is what on earth he’s doing here.

 

“Sorry I’m late for the briefing,” the man says as he looks around the nearly empty room. He grins, revealing a deep dimple in his right cheek. “The nurse wouldn’t let me leave quarantine until only a few minutes ago. What’d I miss?”

 

I swear I almost see Haymitch roll his eyes. “Fashionably late as usual, heh Finnick?” he says.

 

“Finnick Odair,” the man says, stepping so close to me that I can see the gold flecks in his green eyes. “And what’d you say your name was?”

 

“Katniss,” I mumble, uneasy at his closeness. I’ve never really been comfortable around men except Peeta, Gale, and my father. “Katniss Everdeen, from District Twelve.”

 

“Katniss,” he repeats, smiling wider. “That’s an interesting name.” He holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Katniss.”

 

“Yeah,” I reply, shaking his hand quickly before wiping my palm on my hip. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence follows. How I loathe being in situations where I’m expected to carry on conversations! Small talk has never been a strength of mine. Peeta’s the one who’s always been able to talk to anyone, not me.

 

“So, I’m sure you’ve heard all about it by now,” Finnick says, winking at Haymitch. “Haven’t you?”

 

“Heard about what?” I ask, frustrated. It seems like everyone is talking about things, and I’m just supposed to know that they mean!

 

Finnick’s answer is interrupted by the sound of a horn. “That would be lunchtime,” Haymitch says. “C’mon, Sweetheart. We can explain more on the way down to the cafeteria.” He moves to the door, holding it open.

 

“How do you expect me to eat right now?” I say as Haymitch pulls me into the hallway. I yank my elbow away from his grasp, leaning against the wall as I cross my arms. “And explain what?”

 

“There’s nothing you can do for Twelve or your boy right now, Sweetheart,” Haymitch replies, matching my sullen tone. “And to be frank, those aren’t even all of the problems that we’re currently facing. Now, starving yourself isn’t going to help anything, so why don’t we go get something to eat and I can bring you and Finnick up to speed. Yeah?”

 

Scowling, I open my mouth to retort just as my traitorous stomach growls. I suppose Haymitch is right; I won’t be doing Peeta or my family any good by refusing to cooperate. In fact, given that woman Coin’s already apparent dislike of me, I’d likely only make things worse.

 

“Fine,” I huff.

 

“Good,” Haymitch says. “See, you’re already learning that I’m not as bad as I seem.”

 

I continue to glower as we walk along the maze-like corridors, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as we pass people on our way to the cafeteria. We arrive at a set of double doors that open into a large, open room filled with round tables about five minutes later. Haymitch directs us to the food line, where we’re served a small bowl of some kind of stew, along with a scoopful of mashed turnips, another piece of dark bread, and a cup of milk. For how hungry I suddenly am, it seems like a woefully inadequate meal. Glancing next to me, I notice that Finnick seems equally disappointed.

 

Haymitch leads us to one of the round tables. I take a tentative bite of the stew, finding it palatable but severely lacking in flavor. “So,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “What do you need to tell me?”

 

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Haymitch takes a sip of his milk and leans in. “It’s why we came after you, Sweetheart. You and the boy. Variations of it have been in the works for years, for even longer than I’ve been here, and it’s finally time to put the plan into action.”

 

“What?” I ask impatiently. “What is the plan? And why does it involve Peeta?”

 

Smirking, Haymitch breaks off a small piece of his bread, popping it into his mouth. “It involves a lot more people than only you and Peeta. A lot more.” He pauses again, glancing around as if to ensure he's not overheard.

 

“We call it the Mockingjay Initiative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. We've now met Haymitch, Finnick, and President Coin. We'll hear more about Haymitch and how he came to be in Thirteen in the next chapter. :)
> 
> I'm always anxious to see what you think of each chapter! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left me kudos and comments! I'm so thankful for each and every one!
> 
> Thank you as well to DandelionSunset, who betaed this chapter. Please be sure to check out her stories, she's an amazing author! :)
> 
> Please heed the trigger warnings for past non-con and suicide in this chapter.

Back when I was a little girl, before my father was taken, I remember him telling me a story about mockingjays.  He explained that the Capitol had created a class of birds they called jabberjays during the Dark Days rebellion.  Jabberjays were muttations, genetically enhanced male birds created by the Capitol as weapons to spy on rebels in the districts.  They could listen to and repeat entire sentences of human speech, so the Capitol would send them into the rebel areas to spy.  The birds would overhear the rebel plans and then, since they were homing birds, would return to the Capitol and repeat the conversations.

 

Eventually, the rebels caught on to what the Capitol was doing and began to feed the birds lies and misdirections.  When the Capitol leaders discovered that they had been duped, they were so angry that they turned the birds loose, expecting them to die off in the wild.

 

Except, the jabberjays didn’t die, or at least not before they mated with female mockingbirds, creating a new species of bird, the mockingjays.  My father loved mockingjays, and would often whistle or sing to them as we walked home with our hauls from the woods.  It always seemed that as soon as he opened his mouth, the birds would stop whatever else they were doing and wait, listening intently for him to begin.  Then, after listening politely, they would pick up his melody and transmit it all across the woods, and we would arrive back at the fence smiling at the beauty of their songs.  My mom told me she fell in love with my dad after she heard him sing, and I can understand why.  His voice was beautiful, high and clear and so filled with life it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

 

And Peeta has often described my voice the same way.  He told me the day I sang the Valley Song in front of our kindergarten class at school that he looked out the window as I began, to see if the birds stopped to listen.

 

I breathe in a shaky breath.  “The mockingjay bird is a species the Capitol never intended to exist,” I remember my father telling me once, deep in the woods where we wouldn’t be overheard.  “They are proof that the Capitol can’t control everything, even though they’d never admit it.”

 

And now, in the context of everything that’s happened, I can understand why my father might’ve been taken.  He said things just like Gale did when we were in the woods on our hunts.

 

“No,” I say to Haymitch.  “I’ve heard of mockingjays, but I’ve never heard of a Mockingjay Initiative.  What is it?”

 

“It’s the codename for the revolution,” Haymitch says.

 

“What revolution?”

 

“Our revolution,” says Finnick.  “All of us, all the districts, all the people.  We’ve been oppressed for long enough.  It’s time for a change.”

 

I pause as a mouthful of bread gets stuck in my throat.  After washing it down with a sip of milk, I turn to Finnick, narrowing my eyes.  “Where are you from again?”

 

Finnick flashes his big, cheeky grin.  “District Four.  Fishing, shrimping, and other seafood-ing.”  He pushes his food tray aside in disgust.  “A lot better eating than this, let me tell you.”

 

Oh, yeah.  I’ve eaten fish before, of course, but only because my father taught me how to fish at our special lake, about two hours’ walk from the fence.  There’s never any fish to be found in Twelve otherwise, or at least none that anyone from the Seam can afford.  And I saw a picture of a shrimp in one of my school textbooks once, but it didn’t look like anything I’d want to eat if I had the choice.  More like a very odd-looking bug.

 

“Uh-huh,” I mutter.  I bet Finnick never went to bed hungry, being surrounded by food all the time.  So what is he doing here?

 

Turning back to Haymitch, I quirk an eyebrow.  “And you said you’re from Twelve, so what’s your story?  How did you know my father?”

 

Haymitch looks off into the distance, and I think I see his lower lip quiver a bit before he scrubs at his chin with his hand.  “Yeah,” he says in a gravelly voice.  “I’m from Twelve.  I lived in a shack in the Seam with my parents and my younger brother, until my dad died when I was fourteen of some lung disease.  He was a coal miner.”

 

“So was my father,” I whisper.

 

“Yeah, and I likely would’ve been too, if I’d stayed,” he says.  “Your dad and I were friends all through school.  We played together when we were little, and chased girls together when we got older.”  He pauses, chuckling.  “Although James Everdeen never had to do too much chasing.  Since he was so good-looking, all the girls pretty much ended up chasing him.  But as much as he enjoyed the attention, he really only had eyes for one girl.”

 

“My mom,” I say.

 

Haymitch nods, his eyes taking on a faraway look.  “Yeah, and she was gorgeous.  But she was from Town, and so therefore off-limits to us lowly Seam folk.  In fact, her older brother and his friends beat the shit out of James behind the school one day, for gawking at her as she walked by the group of us.”  He chuckles again.  “But even that didn’t faze your dad.  He still talked about her constantly, and gawked at her whenever he could.  It just about killed him when he found out she was engaged.”

 

My heart lurches at the reference to Peeta’s father as Haymitch pauses to take a bite of his stew.  Finnick, bored of the conversation, excuses himself, saying he needs to run back down to quarantine to meet with someone.  I assume it’s the nurse who wouldn’t allow him to leave on time this morning.  Finnick strikes me as the type to have a girl hanging on each arm and one waiting for him at home.

 

“So…” I prompt a minute later.  “What happened?  Why’d you leave Twelve?”

 

Haymitch’s lips purse and his jaw clenches.  “I’d just turned eighteen, and was in my last year of school.  My girl and I had just gotten engaged when she was pulled from her home in the middle of the night, by Peacekeeper—”

 

“Cray,” I gasp, my hands curling into fists.  “It was Cray, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Haymitch answers.  He crumples his napkin in his hand, his knuckles turning white.  “She’d had to sign up for tesserae the year before, after her father died.”  He slams his fist onto the table, causing the silverware to clatter.  “And that piece of shit Cray took her, and… “

 

“You don’t have to say it,” I say quickly.  “I understand.”  I look down at my tray, any remaining appetite I had gone.  “I know all about Peacekeeper Cray and how disgusting he is.”

 

Haymitch looks at me, protectiveness flashing in his steely grey eyes.  “Did the bastard do it to you too?”

 

I shake my head.  “Not him, but one of his lieutenants tried to take me one night, under his orders,” I say.  “But Peeta was there, and he heard me struggling, so he… stopped him.”

 

“The boy?” Haymitch asks.  “Stopped a Peacekeeper?”

 

“Yeah.  He’s really strong.”

 

“How’d he manage to do that without getting himself killed?”

 

Tears spring to my eyes and I turn away, not wishing for Haymitch to see me crying.  “Because he killed the Peacekeeper.  Peeta hit him square in the face, and he just dropped dead.”  I inhale shakily, trying not to choke on the large lump in my throat.  “It’s why we had to run away.  My family helped us prepare, and now…” my voice breaks off as I muffle a sob in my palm.  “And now I might not ever see any of them again, and—“

 

“Save the story for everybody else,” Haymitch interrupts, but I detect a note of kindness in his gruff voice.  “They’ll all want to hear it, and then you’ll only have to tell it once.”

 

I nod, sniffing.  “Okay.”  There’s another uncomfortable pause.  “So, why’d you run away?  Surely your fiancée wasn’t killed, just… you know… “

 

“Damaged?” he retorts.  “Ashamed beyond reproach?  Yeah, she was both of those.  After it happened she barely let me hold her hand, much less try and kiss her or offer any other sort of affection.  And then, a couple months later, well… “

 

“Oh no!” I gasp, so loud that people around us stop eating and turn to look in our direction.  It's not the first time I’ve heard about a Peacekeeper siring an illegitimate child; while I was growing up I’d seen several ashamed and frightened girls in the same predicament who came to my mother for help.  Peeta even confessed to me once before he was taken that he often had nightmares about it, wishing he could sign up for the tesserae in my place, but knowing I’d never allow it.  Not with the likely consequences from his mother once she found out.

 

“And that was the final straw,” Haymitch spits out.  “No matter how much I tried to tell her that it didn’t matter to me, that I still loved her, that we’d find a way to raise the baby together, nothing worked.”  He stops talking for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together.  “Then, one night she came to my house.  It was pouring rain, and she was soaked to the skin and shivering.  I tried to get her to come in and warm herself by the fire, but she refused.  Instead, she gave me one final kiss, told me she loved me, and turned around and ran straight for the fence.”

 

My eyes widen.  “She was trying to escape?” I ask.  “Into the woods?”

 

“No,” Haymitch whispers.  He looks down at the table, his stringy salt-and-pepper hair falling over his face, hiding his eyes.  “The fence was electrified that night, and she knew it.  I ran after her, pleading for her to stop, but she ignored me.  And when she got to the fence she grabbed onto it with both hands.”  He cuts off, blowing his nose into his napkin.  “She couldn’t let go, you see.  If you touch an electric fence with your palms, the strong current causes your fingers curl around it, so you can’t let go.  And I had to watch as she screamed and twitched and—”  He shoves his lunch tray, so hard it nearly tumbles off the edge of the table.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I say, wishing for the umteenth time I was better at coming up with things to say.  “That must’ve been horrible to see.”

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles.  “And my sleep hasn’t been the same since.”

 

“So, how’d you end up here?”

 

Haymitch inhales through his nose, scrubbing roughly at his eyes.  “I ended up carrying her body back to my house.  My mom helped me clean her up, and I skipped school the next day so I could bury her.  That evening, Cray sent one of his lackeys to the house to see where I’d been all day, and the sight of that bastard’s smug face just tipped me over the edge.”

 

“Did you kill him?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.

 

“No,” Haymitch replies.  “But by the time I was done with him, he probably wished he were dead.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t leave any of the bones in his face intact.”  He holds up his right hand, revealing a stiff ring finger and a crooked pinky.  “Busted a few bones of my own, but I didn't even feel it till a couple days later.”

 

“Then you ran away,” I say.  “Just like Peeta and me.”

 

“Yeah.  I was so angry and sad that at first I just wandered around, not caring which direction I went, or even if I lived at all.  I had to fight off mutts, I nearly starved to death twice… It took me over six months to find this place.”  He looks down at his tray, sighing deeply.  “And I don’t even know what happened to my mom and brother after I ran.  Chances are the Peacekeepers didn’t take well to one of their own getting his face busted in.”

 

A violent chill runs down my spine.  Haymitch’s story is so eerily similar to mine and Peeta’s, and yet he talks as if there's no chance that his mother and brother are still alive.  I can only hope that Gale was able to talk Peacekeeper Cray down from whatever harsh punishment he wanted to inflict on my family after Peeta and I fled.  I have to assume that they are still alive, that they all survived the bombing.  To assume anything else… I just can’t.

 

“And they just welcomed you here with open arms?” I ask Haymitch skeptically.  “No questions asked?”

 

Haymitch scoffs, shaking his head.  “Oh no, they had plenty of questions.  I had to tell the story to about fifty different people before they agreed to let me stay.  But every now and then someone else would show up at the front door with a story similar to mine, and from several different districts.  It all kinda snowballed from there.”

 

“And that’s where the Mockingjay Initiative came from?” I ask.

 

“Partially,” Haymitch answers.  “Plans have been in place to try and overthrow the Peacekeepers and the Capitol government for years.  We’ve had scenarios that’ve involved dozens of people, but it wasn’t until your boy went rogue that everything fell into line.”

 

My hands squeeze into fists.  “Why?” I demand.  “What does Peeta have to do with it?”

 

Inhaling deeply, Haymitch meets my eyes and huffs out the breath, his forehead creasing in what looks like annoyance.  “Don’t you get it?  He’s the first person in the history of the Ellipses program to be able to successfully resist their brainwashing.  From what Plutarch’s told me, he’d never seen anything like it!”

 

My chest constricts, so hard I think my heart skips a couple beats.  Vicious anger soars through my veins, my stomach twisting into such a tight knot I have to close my eyes against the flood of nausea that follows.  “Do you mean,” I say through clenched teeth.  “That you knew all this time that the Capitol had Peeta, and did nothing about it?”  I can feel the gaze of the various people on me again, but I ignore it, my voice rising as I continue.  “He could’ve been killed!  And what about all the rest of the people, who weren’t able to resist the training?  What about them?  And what about all the people who were captured?  What about my father?  You all just stood by and watched, when you could’ve helped him?  Do you know that my mom and my sister and I nearly starved to death after my father was taken?  Do you know that Rue and her family had to leave Eleven, leave their home, after her father disappeared?  Do you know any of this?”

 

I pause so I can gulp air.  “Do you even care, Haymitch?  Or was it all just a big show to you people up here in Thirteen?”

 

But Haymitch only stares at me, an insufferably annoying smirk on his face.  The pause that follows is finally interrupted by the sound of a horn.  “That’s the end of lunch,” Haymitch says as he gathers up his tray.  “We have another strategy meeting with Plutarch and Beetee now, where I’m sure most of your questions will be answered.”

 

* * *

 

_Romulus Thread straightens his freshly cleaned uniform coat before entering the Minister’s outer office.  A young woman with pale skin and dark brown hair sits at the large mahogany desk, typing furiously at a computer._

 

_“Can I help you, sir?” she asks, the look in her large brown eyes reminding Thread of a frightened rabbit._

 

_“Romulus Thread, Head Peacekeeper, reporting from District Twelve,” he says in his gruff voice.  “I’m here to see Minister Antonius.”  The poor secretary seems to shrink further into her chair with every word, and he internally chuckles.  Just the way it should be._

 

_“Y-yes, sir,” the secretary babbles.  She lifts the telephone receiver, pressing a button with her shaking hand.  “M-, Mr. Thread is here to see you, sir.”_

 

_“Send him in,” Thread hears over the receiver.  Without another glance at the woman, he steps into Antonius’s office._

 

_“Romulus,” Antonius says jovially, coming around from his massive desk to shake Thread’s hand.  “How are things?  I trust everyone under your charge was properly evacuated from Twelve prior to the arrival of the bombers?”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Thread replies.  “We were given plenty of warning.  The last of the trucks departed about fifteen minutes before the first bomb hit.”  He inhales deeply, his lips pursing in thought._

 

_“Yes?” Antonius asks.  “There is something you wish to say?”_

 

_Thread hesitates.  He and the Minister go way back, as far back as childhood when their fathers both worked in the Security Detail following the election of President Snow.  They had shared the same tutors, the same sports teams, even the same girls on occasion.  The fact that Thread had eventually chosen the rather solitary life of a Peacekeeper while Antonius had more ambitious plans for his future was one of their few differences._

 

_“Ah,” Thread starts, clearing his throat.  “It is suspected that some of the district citizens escaped.  Into the woods, before the bombs hit.  It can’t be very many, perhaps only a couple hundred or so, but—”_

 

_“I see,” Antonius says, his voice even.  He moves back around to his chair, steepling his hands.  “And what do you propose we do about this?”_

 

_“Nothing,” Thread answers.  “If any of the people did escape, they won’t last long in the woods.  There’s mutts, tracker jackers; and they're nothing but stupid coal miners, who know nothing except what they are told.  They aren’t survivors, they won’t last a day out there on their own.”  He shakes his head, his lips curling into a cruel smirk.  “It’s not worth the resources to send even one hovercraft to round them up.”_

 

_The Minister tilts his head, looking at Thread with skepticism.  “Uh huh.  And do you propose that we simply ignore the revolting citizens in District Eight as well?”_

 

_“No, sir,” Thread starts.  “I only—”_

 

_But Antonius continues to speak, his voice growing louder with each word that passes his lips.  “What about District Seven, then?  Or Four?”  He stands to his feet, slamming his palm on the polished surface of the desk.  “I do not tolerate failure, Mr. Thread!  You are well aware of my immaculate record in dealing with citizens who refuse to fall into line, and I have absolutely no intention of allowing that record to become tarnished, simply because you are lazy!”_

 

_Threads eyes flash, his lips tightening into a thin line, his fists clenching at his sides.  “I am not lazy, sir,” he says with carefully controlled anger.  “If it is your wish to use our valuable resources and personnel to round up a bunch of useless, starving stragglers from District Twelve, I will be more than happy to oversee it myself.”_

 

_Antonius’s lips twitch as he stares at the former Head Peacekeeper, trying to decide if he should have him flogged for insubordination or commend him for having the guts to speak his mind.  Deciding on the latter —floggings are so very messy anyways— he once again walks around to the front of his desk.  “No, that won’t be necessary, Romulus.”  He nods, the corners of his thin lips quirking into a slight smile.  “In fact, I have another assignment for you.  One I think you’ll rather enjoy, given your propensity for the whipping post.”_

 

_Thread’s brown eyes light up.  He does thoroughly enjoy cracking his whip.  “Sir?”_

 

_“I have a recently retrieved soldier who requires interrogation,” the Minister states.  “And I believe that you are the perfect man for the job.”_

 

_“That does sound like something I would enjoy, sir, thank you,” Thread responds.  “When may I begin?”_

 

_“Tomorrow will be fine,” Antonius answers.  “I’ve already had another soldier start in on him, and right now there is a funeral I must plan, which will require all of my attention for the rest of the day.”_

 

_Thread blinks.  “A funeral, sir?”_

 

_“Yes, an unfortunate occurrence.”  Antonius walks to his door, indicating for Thread to follow.  They step into the hallway, heading down to the elevator that leads to the living quarters.  “It seems the President has been suddenly taken ill, and is not expected to survive the day.”_

 

_Swallowing hard, Thread nods in understanding.  “Such a shame, sir.”_

 

_“Indeed it is.”_

 

_“Is there any thought on who might replace the President, sir?” Thread asks as they arrive at the elevator._

 

_“Right now we have enough to be concerned with,” Antonius responds.  “We can plan an election once this so-called revolt is quelled.”  Pressing the button on the elevator, Antonius pulls a keycard from the inside pocket of his uniform coat and hands it to Thread.  “I’ve taken the liberty of having your personal items moved into one of the vacant apartments.  I do hope that is all right.  There is a nice view of the mountains from the bedroom.”_

 

_“It is fine, sir,” Thread says as he takes the keycard.  “Thank you.”_

 

_“Get a good night’s sleep,” Antonius says as the elevator doors open.  “You will begin your interrogation tomorrow morning.”_

 

* * *

 

I refuse to speak to or even look at Haymitch as we walk along the identical corridors.  As far as I’m concerned, I couldn’t be more angry with him if he’d captured and delivered Peeta to the Capitol himself.  How can he call himself a friend of my father’s?  I know James Everdeen would never have just stood by and watched as innocent people were captured and tortured.  Especially if it was Peeta.

 

Eventually we make our way down to a lab, located way, way down in a beehive of rooms called the Special Defense Level.  Haymitch explains that it's full of computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges for new weaponry, and it’s the base of operations for Beetee, the communications expert from the earlier meeting.  After a security guard buzzes us through the door, we’re directed through another maze of hallways until we come to a plate-glass window, behind which is the first truly beautiful thing I’ve seen since we came to Thirteen.  It's a replica of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants.  There's even hummingbirds, fluttering in midair as they drink nectar from large orange blossoms.

 

Orange.  Peeta’s favorite color.

 

_Oh, I wish he could see this!_

 

I know exactly what Peeta would do if he were here.  He’d sit down, grab his sketchbook and start to draw, like he used to do on our afternoons spent in the woods.  I loved to watch him as he sketched, the way his large hand would glide the pencil so gracefully across the paper, the way his eyes would narrow in concentration, and the way the tip of his tongue would poke out from between his lips from time to time.

 

And he wouldn’t rest until he got the shading of the hummingbird wings just right.

 

Haymitch knocking on the window of the meadow room startles me back to reality.  The man named Beetee turns and gestures for us to enter the room.  Finnick from District 4 is there too, as well as Plutarch, and a woman with long auburn hair that I don’t recognize.  As we step inside the room, I notice that Finnick’s arm is wrapped around her waist.

 

The air inside is cool and breathable, not muggy like I'd expected.  I can hear the buzz of the tiny wings of the hummingbirds as we walk further into the room.  "Aren't they beautiful?" Beetee asks, his eyes behind his ill-fitting glasses alight with excitement.  "The scientists here have been studying their aerodynamics for years.  Forward and backward flight, and speeds up to sixty miles per hour.”  His voice trails off when his eyes land on me.  “Beetee Latier, from District Three.  It’s nice to meet you, Miss Everdeen.”

 

Shaking his offered hand, I nod as Beetee directs us to a small table in one corner of the room.  Finnick, to my surprise, introduces the auburn-haired woman as his wife, Annie, also from District 4.  I guess my first impression of him was completely off.

 

“Now then,” Plutarch says once we’re all seated.  “I’ve asked you all here to discuss how we should proceed.  Our recent retrieval missions were at best a partial success, and—”

 

“We need to rescue Peeta!” I interrupt.  Haymitch shoots me a scowl, but I ignore him. “He’s going to be tortured, you know that!  We need to get him out!”

 

Plutarch smirks, and it’s all I can do to not launch myself at him and claw at his eyes.  “Miss Everdeen, I understand your concern, but there’s a lot more at stake here than one person.”

 

“But, I—”

 

“If you’ll allow me to finish, Miss Everdeen,” Plutarch continues.  “A rescue mission is being planned, as Soldier Eighteen—”

 

“His name is Peeta!” I snap.  “Peeta Mellark.  Stop calling him Soldier, it’s not who he is.  He’s Peeta Mellark, from District Twelve.”

 

“Very well,” Plutarch says.  I’m pleased to see that he at least makes an effort to wipe the smirk off his face.  “As I was saying, a rescue mission is being planned.  The Ellipses program has been in place for almost ten years now, which means there are dozens of people involved in one capacity or another.  Peeta is not the only person who has been taken prisoner.”

 

Plutarch launches into a detailed discussion on the genesis of the Ellipses program, how it was the brainchild of Minister Antonius because he felt that President Snow had become too old and too feeble to take the security of Panem as seriously as Antonius believed he should.  Antonius had tried to obtain presidential approval for the program on several occasions, and it was when he was rebuffed for the final time that he decided to move forward with Ellipses anyway, in secret.

 

Soldiers for the program were initially culled from volunteers in the districts nearest the Capitol, mainly District 2, with District 1 a close second.  Soon, though, it became clear to Antonius that there was not enough available volunteers to take out the increasing number of people that he deemed to be security threats, so he began sending his soldiers on missions specifically designed to retrieve targets that he would then turn around and train as additional soldiers.

 

As Plutarch goes on to explain the extensive, absolutely horrible training process, it’s all I can do to remain upright in my chair.  I bite my bottom lip so hard I nearly draw blood, squeezing my eyes shut as he describes the injections of tracker jacker venom, the beatings and sleep deprivation, being immersed in water until the soldiers nearly drown, and the required practice killings before their training is deemed to be finished.

 

_And Gale used to call the Merchant boys weak.  Peeta survived all of that, and with his innate goodness still intact.  He’s so much stronger than anyone could have imagined._

 

Plutarch then goes on to explain the development of what he calls the Resistance.  Being a member of the Minister’s training staff, he knew of the existence of District 13 and eventually, over the course of several years, developed the communication with Thirteen that led to the recruitment of agents in several of the districts.  These agents were responsible for monitoring the activities of the district Peacekeepers and reporting on the disappearances of citizens as they occurred.  As time went on patterns were observed, and potential targets could be identified prior to capture.  With all the district agents finally in place and able to send reliable reports, Plutarch was just about ready to launch a counter-offensive program when Peeta suddenly went rogue, causing him to rethink his plans.

 

There’s a period of silence that follows.  Plutarch, Haymitch, and Beetee already knew all of this information, and Finnick, with his role as the agent in District 4, was aware of some of it, on what Plutarch referred to as a need-to-know basis.  But it’s the first time Annie and I are hearing any of it, and, glancing over at her, I see that she’s taking it about as well as I am.

 

“All right,” Finnick says with a sympathetic look at his anxious wife.  He squeezes her hand reassuringly.  “So, what’s the plan?”

 

Pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket, Plutarch smooths it out on the table.  “President Coin and Commander Boggs have to concentrate on the military side of things for the revolution —strategic planning, troop deployment, etc.— for obvious reasons,” he begins.  “So our focus will be on propaganda, trying to gain the support of the masses who are still undecided.”  


  
My eyebrows knit together.  “How will propaganda be helpful?”

 

"Propaganda is an important part of any war," Plutarch says, that hateful smirk back on his lips.  "History has shown us that.  Morale can be greatly influenced in either direction by one simple news story, or the playing of a certain song.  Why do you think that hundreds of years ago people used to send music and movie stars to visit the troops fighting in the various wars?  It was to cheer them up.  To improve morale along the front lines.  That's what you’ll be doing.  You, Finnick, and Annie, and eventually Peeta, will be our celebrities."

 

“Now, wait a minute, Plutarch,” Finnick says.  “I don’t want Annie involved in this.  She’s only here because I didn't dare leave her behind, with all the unrest in Four.  I was implicitly told that she'd be protected.”

 

“And how can I be a celebrity, when no one outside of District Twelve has any idea of who I am?” I ask.  “No one’s going to care about what I have to say.”

 

“On the contrary, Katniss,” Haymitch cuts in.  “I think you have a rather compelling story.  The disappearance of your father, the fact that you fell in love with a boy from Town when you’re from the Seam, which blows the whole class divide apart.  The fact that Peeta killed a Peacekeeper to protect you—”

 

“And we can't forget the fact that he was initially programmed to target you,” Plutarch says excitedly.  “I mean, I couldn’t have planned it better myself!  We can package it as the Star-Crossed Lovers from District Twelve.  Not even the Capitol could tear you apart.”  He grins widely.  “Everyone loves a good love story.  Even the folks in the Capitol will eat it up!”

 

Hearing my relationship with Peeta reduced down to nothing more than a simple catchphrase makes my cheeks flame, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to reply with a nasty retort when I catch Haymitch’s eye.  He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and his eyes flicker briefly to Plutarch.  I don’t know why I should listen to him, since I’m still angry with him too, but for some reason I decide to obey him and clamp my mouth shut.

 

“Now then,” Plutarch continues.  “Prior to Miss Trinket and I leaving the Capitol, we equipped a very ambitious camera crew with survival supplies and helped them escape past the Capitol’s borders.  I just received word prior to this meeting that they have arrived safely and are currently in quarantine.  Once they’ve been cleared, we will introduce you all and begin with the broadcasts.  Katniss, Miss Trinket will serve as your point person for hair, makeup, and wardrobe.”

 

“But who’s even going to see these propaganda clips?” I persist, unable to help myself.  “The districts who are revolting won’t likely be sitting around watching their television screens, and those that aren’t revolting won’t dare to watch them, out of fear of what the Peacekeepers would do to them if they were caught!”

 

“That’s where I come in,” Beetee says.  He tilts his head back, looking at me from under his black-rimmed glasses.  “I was smuggled out of District Three about two years ago by the agent there, when it was determined that I was next on the capture list.  I’m quite good with computers and communications systems.  I can ensure that every citizen of Panem with access to a television screen, or even a speaker, will be able to hear these broadcasts.  Both ordinary citizens and Peacekeepers, and in both the districts and the Capitol.  There’ll be no way to avoid them.”

 

Gulping, I swallow my comment about how perhaps many of the district citizens won't appreciate being forced to watch or listen to anything, and instead simply nod, hoping that’ll indicate the end of this meeting.  To my relief, Plutarch refolds his piece of paper and gets to his feet.

 

“I must now go check on a few things,” he says.  “I will be in touch as soon as the camera crew has cleared quarantine, and then we can get started.”

 

As soon as Plutarch is out of sight I turn to Haymitch.  “Please, don't make me do this,” I plead.  “I’m not good with talking to people, I don't know how to rally anyone.  Peeta’s really the one who’d be good at this sort of thing—“

 

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, Katniss,” Beetee says kindly, cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.  I notice Finnick has that cheeky grin on his face again, while Annie simply looks nervous, twisting a piece of her hair around her fingers.  “I mean, I've just met you, and I’m already quite impressed with your gumption.  If we simply focus that in the correct way, I think you can be quite persuasive.  And like Plutarch said, words can have immense power, if they’re spoken by the right person.”

 

Words.  I think of words and I think of Peeta.  How people often embrace everything he says.  He could move a crowd to action, if he chose to.  Of that I have no doubt.

 

“No,” I mutter.  “If you people wanted a voice, then you should’ve saved Peeta.  I’m no good with words.”

 

“Katniss,” Finnick starts, but he's cut off by Haymitch.

 

“Give the girl a break for today, yeah?” he says.  “We can revisit this once her family’s arrived and she’s been able to see them.”

 

Once again, it seems as if Haymitch has stood up for me.  I shoot him a thankful look as we get back to our feet, saying goodbye to Beetee.

 

“I'll show you all to your rooms now,” Haymitch says.  We exit the hummingbird room and make our way back to the elevator, taking it up several levels to the residential section.  I try to take notice of where we walk, but again, the identical hallways make it difficult.

 

Arriving on one of the residential floors, Haymitch shows Finnick and Annie to their room, then takes me to a room three doors down.  The door slides open to reveal a small, square space with a lofted double bed in one corner, with my game bag and my father’s hunting jacket sitting on top of the blanket in a heap, but no sign of my bow and arrows.  Off to the right is a door that leads to the small bathroom.  There's also a loveseat in the center of the room, a few cabinets under the bed, and a small table with two chairs against one wall, but that's it for furnishings.  Tears well in my eyes as I realize this is a room likely meant for a married couple.

 

“We had a toasting,” I blurt out, for some reason feeling the need to explain myself.  “Peeta and I toasted during the blizzard, before you guys found us.”

 

Haymitch doesn’t even look surprised at my confession.  “I figured as much,” he says quietly.  “That’s why I had them assign you a room like this.”  He shrugs.  “I’m glad I wasn’t wrong.”

 

“Haymitch, what’s going to happen to him?” I ask after a short stretch of silence.  “Will we be able to find him?”

 

Plunking himself down onto the loveseat, Haymitch sighs deeply.  “We’re gonna do everything that we can, Sweetheart.  Try to remember, Peeta’s not the only one who’s been captured.  There are several other people in his same predicament.”

 

I sit down on the edge of the loveseat cushion, my head in my hands.  “Do you think he’s still alive?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Haymitch replies.  “From what we know of Antonius, he doesn’t like to kill anyone until they are entirely of no use to him anymore.  And for the time being, Peeta’s still of use to him.”

 

“He’ll be tortured!” I cry, doubling over as pain wracks through my body.  “He’ll be beaten and drowned and shot up with venom… we need to get him out as soon as possible!”

 

“I know, Katniss,” Haymitch says, sounding impatient.  “Boggs already has a tentative plan drawn up.”  He sits up straighter, eyeing me as if he’s deciding how much to tell me.  “From what we know, Antonius keeps the soldiers that don’t volunteer for the program pumped full of tracker jacker venom, to keep up an appropriate level of mind control.  And this continues for as long as he considers them to be cooperative and useful.”

 

“What about when they’re not useful anymore?” I ask, dreading the answer.

 

Haymitch’s jaw clenches and his lips purse in disgust.  “After they’re too old or feeble to continue, or if they botch or fail a mission, from what we understand, they’re then transferred to a prison.  We don’t know exactly where this prison is, but from what our spies have told us, it’s completely inescapable.”

 

“Why doesn’t Antonius just kill them?” I ask.  “It seems strange that he’d want the trouble of keeping the prisoners alive.”

 

“I don’t know, Sweetheart,” Haymitch answers.  “There’s theories that these prisoners are used as practice targets in the training of new Ellipses soldiers, but we don’t know for sure.”

 

I let out a sound, somewhere between a groan and a cry.  “I need to go on the rescue mission.  I need to be the one who finds Peeta.”

 

“We can talk about that when the time comes.  First, let’s worry about—”

 

“No!” I interrupt.  “I need to go!  I need to find my husband!”

 

“Peeta’s not the only one—“ Haymitch starts, but just then a device on his wrist lets out a series of beeps.  I watch as he reads the message, nodding at it continues.

 

“What’s that?” I ask.

 

“It’s a communicuff,” he says, showing me the square plastic and metal device.  “They’ve found the survivors from Twelve.  Your mom and sister both made it, and all of the Hawthornes.”  He hold up a hand to silence me.  “According to Boggs, Gale’s in pretty rough shape, so they’re taking him to quarantine in the hospital wing, along with a few others with minor injuries.  But everyone else in your family is fine.”

 

“What happened to Gale?” I ask frantically.

 

Haymitch winces, scratching at his chin.  “Boggs says he was flogged, and pretty bad too, from the looks of it.  But he should make a full recovery now that he’s here.  Boggs says his fiancée is with him in the hospital.”

 

“Madge!”  My heart leaps into my throat, and I have to steady myself on the back of the loveseat so I don’t topple over.  “When can I—”

 

“Not until they’re out of quarantine,” Haymitch interrupts as he gets to his feet.  “And with the eight hundred or so people they’ve got down there right now, they won’t take kindly to you pestering them.”

 

“But—”

 

“It’s only two days, Sweetheart.  You can wait two days.  Once your mom and sister are released, I’ll make sure you’re brought directly to them, and you’ll be able to visit Gale once the quarantine period is over.”

 

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek.  “Okay. Thank you.”

 

Haymitch nods, patting me on the shoulder.  “Try and get some rest now.  I’ll come pick you up when it’s dinnertime.”

 

I nod, and once the sliding door closes behind Haymitch, I take off my ill-fitting shoes and crawl up onto the bed, sliding my arms into my father’s jacket, the soft leather soothing as it surrounds me with warmth. Then I reach for what would be Peeta’s pillow and clutch it to my chest as the tears I’ve been holding back now flow freely.  I cry and cry, until it seems that there are no tears left.  “My family is safe,” I say aloud, trying to convince myself.  “They are here, and they’re safe, and I’ll get to see them soon.”

 

And then, once they’re settled in, I’m going to get my husband back.  I’ll wear their stupid makeup and clothes and follow their stupid directions and record their stupid propos only if it means I can get Peeta back here with me, where he's safe.  Even if it means I have to walk to the Capitol, I’m going to find that prison, and I’m going to rescue him.

 

Because after everything that he's been through, that we’ve been through together, the possibility of losing him wouldn’t only leave me as just another widow from the Seam.

 

It would completely, and thoroughly, break me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been interesting for me to write Haymitch without the background of the Hunger Games. You can see here he has a similar story to Katniss and Peeta, which hopefully will help Katniss to come to trust him.
> 
> I'm always eager to hear what my readers think of each chapter! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank-you to DandelionSunset for betaing this chapter! Be sure to check out her stories, she's an amazing author. :)

_“So tell me,” Minister Antonius says as he leans back in his high-backed desk chair.  “What have you been able to obtain thus far from Eighteen?”_

 

_Romulus Thread shifts uncomfortably in his chair, pursing his lips.  He’s only been working on the prisoner for a week or so, and in his experience it often takes at least a couple weeks of harsh interrogation before a well-trained subject will give up any useful information.  But he doesn’t dare mention this to the Minister, especially not after the debacle with the survivors from District 12.  As far as Thread is concerned, he’s lucky he wasn’t executed over the fact that District 13 managed to collect them all before Thread could have them eliminated._

 

_“Nothing of strategic use as of yet, Minister.  The subject is remarkably resilient, and quite stubborn, if I may say so.”_

 

_Antonius frowns, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he shakes his head.  “This is unacceptable, Romulus.  It is imperative that we make an example of Soldier Eighteen.  That we show these rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.”  He leans forward, his elbows braced against his desk.  “You do understand that former Head Trainer Plutarch Heavensbee has likely told District Thirteen everything he can about the Capitol’s strengths and weaknesses, do you not?  And that Thirteen has the capacity to completely destroy us, if they so choose?”_

 

_“Yes, sir, I am well aware of the traitor Heavensbee, and of Thirteen’s capabilities,” Thread replies in his gruff voice.  “But, and excuse me if I seem presumptuous, but I fail to see how punishing a single soldier for going AWOL accomplishes anything in the grand scheme of things.”  Thread’s lips curl into a cruel smirk.  “You did say that Eighteen was found with a girl, correct?  Maybe he simply needed to let off some steam.”_

 

_“Mr. Thread!” Antonius roars, then pauses to close his eyes and take a deep breath.  While he had anticipated most of the additional responsibilities he now carried as interim President of Panem, he hadn’t considered how those responsibilities would affect his tenuous blood pressure control.  Having already been told twice by his personal physician to try and reduce his stress levels, Antonius finally snapped, ordering the physician to increase his medication doses until a complete blood vessel cleansing and repair could be scheduled.  But there’s no way Antonius dares to take off the two days required for the vessel repair until the interrogation of Eighteen is complete.  Otherwise, the benefits of the treatment will be all for naught._

 

_But at the rate Thread is going, the interrogation will never be concluded.  And that is simply unacceptable, elevated blood pressure or not._

 

_“Mr. Thread,” Antonius repeats, a bit softer this time.  “You’ll forgive me if it seems I am taking this personally, but it is absolutely imperative that we send a forceful message to the rebels.”  He raises his hand as Thread opens his mouth.  “And may I also remind you, sir, that the girl who was found with Eighteen was in fact his original assigned target?  Which means that he failed in his mission, and his original trainer was negligent in his responsibilities.”  He leans in, his hazel eyes narrowing as he makes a mental note to research the identity of Eighteen’s original trainer.  “I do not appreciate failed missions, sir.  They are reprehensible blemishes on my otherwise impeccable record.”_

 

_“I can understand that, sir,” Thread says cautiously.  “My personal record is a matter of pride for me as well.  But, if I may say so, shouldn’t we be concentrating more on shoring up our defenses, sending additional troops into the revolting districts, and training replacement Peacekeepers to replace those that have been lost?  If indeed Mr. Heavensbee has passed on any useful information about Ellipses, or our defenses, sir, we need to be prepared.”_

 

_“And we will be prepared,” Antonius snaps, slamming both palms onto the desk.  “I have absolute confidence in our ability to hold the Capitol and protect our citizens.  It is beyond ridiculous to think that a bunch of farmers and common laborers could ever take down our impeccably trained military.  They have no true leader among them, and their confidence is surely hanging by only the thinnest of threads.”  He straightens his back, adjusting his crimson uniform coat.  “And showing them that we can break Soldier Eighteen may be just enough to snap that thread.”_

 

_Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Thread simply nods.  “Then I am open to any suggestions you may have, Minister.  I have exhausted all of the usual techniques, and still Eighteen refuses to yield.  We’ve beaten him to within an inch of his life, using both fists and batons.  He’s been flogged, twice, such that there’s not an inch of skin left on his back that’s unblemished.  Several of his wounds appear to be infected, with one rather deep wound on his left leg that looks particularly bad.  He’s been given the maximum appropriate dosage of tracker jacker venom, but all he does while high is mumble the same things over and over, things about sunsets and painting and other such nonsense.  Nothing of any strategic importance.”_

 

_“Hmm,” Antonius mumbles, tapping his chin.  “You have him on skin replenishers and intravenous antibiotics?  I do not wish for him to perish before we are through with him.”_

 

_“Yeah,” Thread says.  “But we had to knock him out to do it.  He keeps pulling the lines out when he's awake.”  Thread lets out a morbid chuckle.  “It's as if he’s eager to die.”_

 

_“Very well,” Antonius sighs.  “As soon as he has recovered sufficiently I want you to begin again.”  He gets to his feet, indicating that the discussion has concluded.  “And this time, Romulus, hold nothing back.”_

 

_Thread nods as he also gets to his feet, walking with the Minister to the door of his plush office.  “Yes, Minister. I promise you, I will get him to yield if it’s the last thing I do.”_

 

* * *

 

“Peeta!” I scream, bolting upright in the semi-darkness filling Compartment 307, my mother and Prim’s quarters, the nightmare I inhabited only seconds ago already fading into oblivion as my breaths come out in stuttered pants.  My sister’s thin arms immediately wrap around me, pulling me close to her as she rocks and pats my hair, trying to shush me.  Our mother, sleeping in the second bed against the opposite wall, briefly opens one sleepy eye before rolling over and adjusting her blankets.  She knows Prim is more of a comfort to me than she could be.  Even after all this time, I still find it difficult to accept any measure of comfort from her.

 

And besides, Mom’s been having the same nightmares lately too.  Pretty much ever since she was released from quarantine.

 

It’s been two weeks since the District 12 refugees arrived here in Thirteen.  Out of the ten thousand or so people that inhabited Twelve, only a bit more than eight hundred made it out of the district before it completely burned to the ground.  Apparently the Capitol’s thought that the new metal houses in the Seam would be as less dangerous in a fire was incorrect.  Although the modular homes were less burnable than the old wooden houses embedded with coal dust, the bombs dropped by the hovercraft burned at such a high temperature that the doors to the metal houses warped, fusing into their doorways, essentially locking any remaining residents inside a rapidly heating oven.  Madge told me she could hear the screams of the people still trapped inside their homes as she and Rory dragged Gale’s battered body through the woods, the open wounds on his flayed back staining his shirt with jagged red stripes as they escaped with my mother and sister and the rest of the Hawthornes.

 

Although he was nearly incapacitated when the bombing occurred, the credit for the survivors’ escape has landed mostly on Gale’s shoulders.  He’s the one who first noticed, even in his morphling-induced stupor, that the electricity had been cut.  He’s the one who rallied his brothers and sister and Madge to immediately begin packing food and clothing.  And he's the one who sent his mining team to knock on doors as they left their homes, urging everyone who would listen to flee towards the woods.

 

They were only in the woods for about a day, but my mother, Prim, and Madge had already set up a makeshift medical area, and Gale and Rory had already organized people to hunt and fish by the time the hovercraft from District 13 arrived to evacuate the survivors, most of whom were from the Seam.  Only a couple hundred or so people from Town made it out before the bombs hit.

 

With the medical staff and resources in Thirteen now stretched thin with the influx of new refugees, Mom and Prim were quickly absorbed into their medical corps and given duty hours in the hospital and clinics.  Prim has dived into the work, absorbing as much as she can, and even volunteering for extra shifts.  For my mother it's been a welcome distraction, something to keep her mind occupied so she doesn't slip again into her deep depression that almost killed all three of us six years ago.

 

Because only a couple of days after they got here, before we were even able to get them settled, Haymitch dropped yet another bomb on us.

 

My father, James Everdeen, is alive.

 

Or at least he was, up until about eight months ago, when he went missing.  Again.

 

From what Haymitch told us, my father was identified as a potential Ellipses target shortly after Gale's father, Alder Hawthorne, disappeared.  Information gleaned by Thirteen, with Plutarch’s discrete help in the Capitol, was then relayed to the agent in District 12, Mayor Undersee.  With this information, the Mayor was able to smuggle my father out of the district just in time, for an Ellipses soldier showed up in Twelve only one day after my father's disappearance.

 

With the Mayor’s help, Dad eventually made his way to District 13, where, after an extensive vetting process, he began to work as a spy for the fledgling resistance.  During the years between his disappearance and Peeta’s capture, he made regular covert trips to nearly every district, establishing contacts and equipping people with information deemed vital for any potential revolution to succeed.  During this time, over one hundred Ellipses targets were identified in various districts, but only a few of those were successfully thwarted.  Something else needed to be done.

 

But then Peeta was captured, and the Seam nearly destroyed in the fire resulting from Peeta’s botched retrieval.  As soon as my father heard the news, he began lobbying President Coin for a mission to the Capitol itself.  Haymitch told us that the official reason he gave was to root out possible Capitol sympathizers to the rebel cause, and he was convincing enough that President Coin eventually agreed.  All the districts had pledged their support for the cause, with the exception of One and Two, and the Capitol was the next logical choice.

 

What no one knew, however, was that Dad had other, secret reasons for wanting to enter the Capitol.  He wanted to find out what happened to his friend Alder Hawthorne, who was never heard from again following his disappearance, and he wanted to rescue Peeta.  Whether he somehow knew of my and Peeta’s relationship, or simply felt guilty for winning the heart of my mother away from Mr. Mellark, Haymitch didn't say.  But whatever the reason, my father felt compelled to try and free Peeta from Minister Antonius’s clutches.

 

And so, about four months before Gale and Rory found Peeta unconscious in the forest outside District 12, my father entered the Capitol’s borders.  After meeting with a stylist sympathetic to the rebel cause to help him blend in with the Capitol population, Dad made his way to the Training Center.  After several attempts scattered over a couple weeks, Dad finally managed to break in to the hidden third floor where the Ellipses soldiers are housed and trained.

 

And then, he was caught.

 

Haymitch explained that when Dad was captured, he was carrying a communicator/ tracking device embedded in the button of his pants that allowed him to track Dad’s movements.  After his capture, by a sheer stroke of luck the tracker continued to broadcast Dad’s location, and it continued to broadcast information during the entirety of Dad’s week-long enhanced interrogation.  Following the interrogation, the tracker stopped transmitting when Seneca Crane ordered Dad to be stripped of his clothing.  It was then assumed that he was taken to the secret prison where Antonius prefers to house his political prisoners, until he deems them to be no longer useful.

 

The prison where Peeta’s likely languishing now, right along with my father.  From what Haymitch and the others have been able to deduce, based on the location of the Training Center and other Capitol landmarks, it’s thought that this prison is located within a mile of the Training Center, and as Haymitch said, hidden in plain sight.

 

“It’s okay, Katniss,” Prim whispers, brushing my damp, matted hair from my eyes.  “It’s only a nightmare.  You’re okay. It’ll be okay.”

 

Too tired and rattled to protest, I simply nod, even though it’s a lie.  I’m not okay, and there’s no way I’ll ever be okay again, as long as my husband’s trapped in the Capitol.  I may have been only dreaming just now, but that doesn’t mean it's not real.

 

My mother and I seem to have that in common.  Every night, the two of us trade off waking up screaming from one nightmare or another.

 

But still, I don't need to be dumping all of this onto my little sister.  “Yeah,” I say to Prim.  “I’m sorry I woke you, Little Duck.”

 

“It’s okay,” she says, even as she stifles a yawn.  “I’m here to help you, Katniss.  I want to help you.”  She squeezes me close one more time, begging me silently to open up to her.  But I can’t.  I've already caused enough trouble for my family.  I don't need to weigh them down even more when there’s nothing they can do about it.

 

“I’m okay,” I say, kissing her forehead.  “Go back to sleep.”

 

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Prim does her best to imitate my scowl before pulling me in for another hug.  Then she lays back down next to me and falls almost immediately back to sleep.

 

I’ve always envied how Prim could fall asleep in only a matter of seconds.  I’m also amazed at how quickly she seems to have grown up in the months I was away.  Time and tragedy have forced Prim to become wise beyond her mere fourteen years.  Maybe I should insist that she sleep in my room, since between me and my mother, there’s hardly any uninterrupted sleep to be had here in Compartment 307.

 

I tried sleeping by myself at first, in the compartment assigned to Peeta and me.  But it was impossible.  The bed was too big and too cold, and the room too quiet without the sounds of Peeta’s rhythmic breathing and his heart beating beneath my ear.  So as soon as Mom and Prim were released from quarantine, I started sleeping in their room.  I still keep my stuff in my own quarters, including the sketchbook, which I was shocked and relieved to find in the depths of my game bag when I emptied it that first night.  Once again, Peeta was thinking ahead, always looking out for me.  He must’ve shoved it into the bag when I was getting dressed before we left the cave, knowing if anything happened that I would want it, as a remembrance.

 

After finding the sketchbook, I ended up staying awake that entire first night, clutching the pressed dandelion in my fist as I looked through the various drawings, the perfect catalogue of our love story.  There were even four new drawings that I discovered towards the back, that Peeta must’ve drawn while I was sleeping during our time in the cave.  A picture of me dressed in my nightgown, tying off the end of my braid.  A picture of us toasting our bread over the fire.  A picture of his large hand intertwined with my smaller one.  And, my favorite, a picture of us making love.  I’m straddling his lap, my head thrown back and my eyes closed, with his hand cupping my cheek and his lips pressed against my neck.  I’m not even sure what he used to draw the pictures, it had to have been a burnt branch or something, since I’m fairly certain he didn’t have any pencils or charcoal with him.

 

Regardless of how he managed to sketch them, I’ve now spent hours pouring over the drawings, the pages littered with my teardrops and finger smudges.

 

Tucking Prim’s blankets more securely around her, I quietly jump out of the bed and pad over to the door, heading down the hall to my own quarters.  Walking directly to the undisturbed bed, I reach under my pillow, pulling out the sketchbook and flipping open the cover to that first drawing of me wearing the red plaid dress and two braids.  I grab a blanket off the end of the bed and sit down on the loveseat, the sketchbook spread out over my lap.  It’s unlikely that I’ll get anymore sleep tonight.

 

Plutarch and his propaganda machine have managed to keep my days busy, at least.  The camera crew, composed of director Cressida, assistant director Messala, and twin cameramen Castor and Pollux, arrived from the Capitol only a day before the refugees from District 12, and ever since they cleared quarantine have been running me ragged with filming and editing propaganda clips.

 

So far, I’ve already made a trip to the ruins of District 12 with Gale and Madge.  That was hard, seeing all the destroyed buildings, the dead bodies lining the streets, the coal mines still belching out toxic black smoke.  Madge’s mother and father never even made it out of Twelve.  The Mayor’s home was likely one of the first buildings hit by the bombs, if not the first, and Mayor Undersee would never have left behind his wife, who was basically an invalid.  It was only that Madge was at our house in the Seam, helping to take care of Gale after his flogging, that she managed to survive.

 

The next trip a few days later, to a field hospital in District 8, went a little better, and the third, a joint propo with Finnick in front of the half-destroyed Justice Building in District 4, even better still as I finally gained some confidence in my ability to move an audience.  Haymitch had insisted on placing me in real-time situations after the first few propos filmed in District 13 fell flat on their faces, with Haymitch saying my performances held about as much charm as a dead slug.  But both he and Plutarch seem happy enough with the footage now.  The people making up the camera crew, handpicked by Plutarch himself, have even grown on me, and I never thought it would be possible for me to trust anyone from the Capitol.  I’ve even come to enjoy my time in makeup and wardrobe with Effie Trinket a bit.  Sometimes she says things that are so strange, in her funny Capitol accent, that I just have to laugh.  And as a former member of Minister Antonius’s personal staff, some of her stories have been quite eye-opening.

 

Plutarch was especially gleeful when the Capitol started counteracting our propos with clips of their own, led by a strange-looking fellow with purple hair named Caesar Flickerman.  I’d seen him a few times on television while growing up, usually hosting something they called a game show, but never really paid much attention to him until now.  Apparently he’s the new face for the Capitol, since Finnick and I have become the faces of the revolution.  The Mockingjays.

 

Haymitch also helped me negotiate with President Coin for Gale, Rory, and me to hunt every day for a couple of hours.  Even though we have to turn all of our hauls over to the kitchens, it at least gets me outside, where the air isn’t so stifling and I don’t feel like the walls are constantly closing in on me.  I’ve already noticed a difference in the quality of the meals here since we started hunting.

 

Otherwise, Gale’s already been absorbed into the intensive military training, and Rory, Vick, and Posy have started school, with Hazelle teaching a class on sewing and other fabric arts.  I suppose I should be grateful for the way we’ve been welcomed.  Sick, wounded, and empty-handed, District 13 has managed to assimilate all of us into their collective with an ease that would almost seem eerie, if you think about it too much.  Many of the survivors from Twelve think it’s good luck to have escaped the endless hunger and oppression, to finally have work that's not likely to kill you before your children grow up, to have three square meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in at night, to not have to worry about taking out tesserae, and paying the payments for it.

 

But no matter what, District 13 will never be home to me.  I could never survive long-term in a place like this, only seeing the outside with special permission and constantly being told what to do and where to be.  I need my woods, the quietness, the openness, the clean, clear air.  And I need the comforting smell of baking bread in my house, and rabbit stew cooking on the stove.

 

No.  Once we’re able to rescue Peeta and my father, and the rebels are able to overthrow the Capitol government and elect a new leader, and Twelve has been rebuilt, Peeta and I and my family will go home.  Where he can bake and I can hunt, and we can live the rest of our lives together in freedom.  Maybe even my father and mother will want to go back too.  They could rebuild the apothecary, and we could rebuild the bakery, and there’d be no more Merchant and Seam, we’d all just be citizens of District 12.

 

But first, we need to get Peeta back.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean we still have to wait?” I demand of President Coin, leaning forward with my elbows resting on the table.  I hate these regular meetings in Command with a fiery passion.  We sit around and talk for hours and hours, but yet nothing of value ever seems to actually get accomplished, save for scheduling more propos.  “It’s been almost a month already!  If we wait much longer, there won’t be much of anything of Peeta or my father left to rescue!  If they’re even still alive at all!”

 

“I’m almost certain they’re still alive, Katniss,” Plutarch says from behind his hands, trying to hide his ever-present smirk.  “Knowing Minister Antonius as I do, he’d spare no time in displaying their bodies for all to see if they were indeed already dead.  Especially with how successful your and Finnick’s propos have been.”

 

My stomach gives a violent lurch at Plutarch’s words, and I have to choke back down my nasty reply for fear of vomiting my meager lunch all over the impeccable surface of the table, which would for sure get me excused from the room.

 

Gale clears his throat, glancing at me in concern.  “Even so,” he says, aiming his comments at Commander Boggs.  “Surely you cannot fail to see the importance of the intelligence offered by Mr. Everdeen.  Right now we have momentum on our side.  We need to keep that momentum going, and liberating the main Capitol prison of it’s political prisoners is a great way to do just that.”

 

Inhaling a deep breath, Boggs nods, turning his attention to President Coin.  “Gale does have a point, Madame President.  It is true the propos have been a success thus far.  Morale is rising among the districts, especially those that have managed to completely overthrow their Peacekeeper corps. Commander Paylor and her troops have managed to unify Districts Six, Eleven, Eight, and Four, with Nine soon to follow once its remaining Peacekeepers are removed from power.”  He pauses to nod in my direction.  “With the Capitol people still uncertain over the details surrounding the death of President Snow, now would be as good a time as any to try and sneak past its borders.”

 

Coin sits back in her chair, crossing her arms and pursing her lips.  “I see,” she says in her even voice, which never completely fails to hide her irritation, at least from me.  “And you believe, Miss Everdeen, that you are prepared to take on such an arduous task?”  Her eyes narrow as they bore into me.  “Just how many hours of our military training have you completed?  It seems to me that you’ve been satisfied to just wander aimlessly around the district, hiding in supply closets rather than complete any of the required classes and training exercises listed on your daily schedule.”

 

Blood floods my cheeks in indignation, and I feel my lips curling into a scowl just as Haymitch’s hand covers mine on the table.  He’s warning me to keep control of my temper, and I suppose he’s right.  Just a couple of days ago I almost managed to lose my hunting privileges when I refused to attend yet another meeting in Command only a couple of hours after one had ended.  Madge, using her new position as District Liaison for the rebel-controlled districts, had to use all of her diplomatic power to clean up that mess.

 

“Katniss is the best hunter and stalker of the three of us,” Gale says.  “She’s nearly silent and can blend into any situation.  I’m confident that she could hold her own.”

 

“Yes, perhaps while stalking for rabbits and deer,” Coin sneers.  “But can she follow instructions?  Take commands?  Put the safety of her squadmates ahead of her own?  From what I’ve seen the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.  She disregards her schedule on a daily basis.  She throws tantrums when she’s asked to attend strategy meetings, and she has absolutely no respect for authority.”  Coin’s pale grey eyes turn to me, the ugly color of slush contaminated with coal dust.  “From my perspective, there‘s no way I’d trust Katniss Everdeen on a mission of such high risk.  She’ll only get herself captured, and then we’ll lose our voice and all the momentum we’ve built thus far.”

 

I immediately open my mouth to retort, and then slam it closed just as fast against the bile rising into my throat.  As much as I hate to admit it, Coin does have a point.  Unless I’m out hunting, or prepping for another propo, I have completely disregarded my printed schedule, which on any given day includes nuclear history classes, basic medical training, editing previously shot propo footage, and any other sort of activity meant to keep me busy.  But instead, I’ve simply done my own thing, wandering aimlessly in the corridors, hiding out in my empty compartment and looking through the sketchbook, or, as Coin said, hiding out in supply closets.

 

Reaching for a glass of water, I take a large sip, hoping to calm my churning stomach.  “I’ll start attending the training classes,” I say in a small voice.  “If it’ll bring Peeta and my father back, I’ll do it.  But I have to go to the Capitol.”

 

Coin ponders this for a moment.  “Very well.  You have two weeks.”  She nods in Boggs’ direction.  “Two weeks to learn everything you can.  Then, if Boggs deems you fit, you can accompany the rescue squad into the Capitol.”

 

I want so badly to protest, that two weeks is too long, that we need to go sooner.  That I don’t know if I can handle the thought of two more weeks of Peeta being tortured and brainwashed.  But I also know arguing will not get me anywhere except bounced out of the room so I nod, trying to look grateful.

 

“Thank you,” I say.  Looking over at Boggs, I attempt a smile.  “So, when do I start?”

 

Boggs clenches his jaw.  “Tomorrow,” he says.  “After breakfast, report to the training area.  Gale can show you the way.”

 

A few minutes later the meeting is finally adjourned.  As we all filter out of the room and into the hallway, Gale grabs my arm, pulling me aside.

 

“What—”

 

“Now you listen to me, Catnip,” Gale spits out as his expression darkens, his grey eyes stormy with anger.  “I don’t think you’ve thought this through very well.”

 

I’m shocked by the venom in his voice.  “What are you talking about?”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that!” he snaps, shaking his head.  “You know damn well what I’m talking about.  You just don’t want to admit it!”

 

“And what exactly don’t I want to admit?” I say hotly.  Gale and I have always been able to match each other’s fire, and this is no exception.

 

“That all of this is Peeta’s fault,” Gale answers.  “He’s the one who killed a Peacekeeper.  He’s the one who made you run away.  He’s the reason for the crackdown in District Twelve.  He’s the reason why your friend Rue was killed.  And he’s the reason why our home was destroyed.  It’s all his fault.”  Gale scowls, shaking his head.  “And I can’t believe you’ll stop at nothing to get him back now, after everything that he’s done.”

 

My stomach gives another painful lurch, nearly causing me to double over.  I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stand straight, glaring up at my taller cousin.

 

“How dare you?” I spit out.  “It was absolutely not Peeta’s fault that he was taken from his home in the dead of night.  It was not his fault that he was tortured and brainwashed.  It was not his fault that he couldn’t even remember his own name at first after you found him, much less anything about his captivity, and it’s absolutely _not_ his fault that his first instinctive move when I was in trouble was to protect me!  Gale, I’m his wife, he _loves_ me!”

 

“Toastings aren’t legally binding, Catnip, you know that—”

 

“They mean a lot more than the stupid piece of paper from the Justice Building, and you know it!”

 

“But still, you don’t know if he’s even still alive, and—”

 

“Gale!” I cry.  “I love him!  Please understand, I have to believe that he’s still alive, and I have to get him out of there!  Before they kill him!”

 

“Catnip—”

 

“What if it was Madge?” I interrupt.  “If she’d been taken against her will to the Capitol, and tortured and forced to train for something she didn’t want.  Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to help her?”

 

Gale’s mouth snaps closed as he swallows, finally nodding.  “Yeah, I guess.”

 

I cross my arms in front of my chest.  “Hmph.  You better not let her hear you sounding all wishy-washy about it.”

 

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Gale snaps.  “You know how I feel about her!  But you’re my responsibility, and—”

 

“No,” I say.  “I’m Peeta’s wife, so I’m his responsibility now.  I don’t have to listen to you anymore if I don’t want to.”

 

Gale’s shoulders sag.  “Katniss, I’m only trying to help you!”

 

“Then help me by helping me train,” I say firmly.  “Starting tomorrow.”

 

Gale cocks an eyebrow, looking me over skeptically.  “Are you sure you’re up to it?  You’re looking a little peaked, to be honest.”

 

“I’m just tired,” I grumble.  “You try sleeping when all you can see when you close your eyes is the person you love most in the world getting dragged back off to the Capitol.”

 

“Fine!” Gale says, throwing up his hands.  “But I’m not gonna let them go easy on you, so don’t expect any special treatment just because you’re the Mockingjay.”

 

“I wouldn’t allow it,” I reply through clenched teeth.

 

“Good.”  He huffs out a breath. “Now, go get some rest before dinner.  You’re gonna need it.”

 

I nod, and watch him as he walks away down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

 

_Two more weeks, Peeta.  Just hang on for two more weeks._

 

* * *

 

I try to throw myself into training, thinking perhaps if I’m able to prove to Coin that I can handle it, she’ll authorize the rescue mission before the end of the two-week deadline.  But what I failed to realize before I began is just how weak with fatigue I’ve become, and when I have to drop out of the first day of training before we’re even halfway through because I simply cannot run another step, I realize in a panic that two weeks might not be enough time.  

 

Gale, who’s been in training ever since he was released from the hospital, and who’s in a far more advanced group, scowls as he sees me gulping water and trying to catch my breath next to the running track two days later.  

 

“That’s not gonna cut it, Catnip,” he says as he jogs over to where I’m standing, halfway bent over with my hands on my knees.  “You know Boggs and Coin won’t let you go unless you’re in top shape.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know!” I snap as I swallow another sip of water, trying to calm my stomach, which has been acting funny lately.  Gale probably thinks he’s being encouraging with his banter, but all it does is make me painfully aware of how little time I have to get in shape.

 

“I’m only trying to help,” he says, a little gentler this time.  He reaches for his water bottle, drinking deeply and wiping his mouth.  “But seriously, Catnip; you don’t look good.  The training group you’re in is a bunch of kids Rory and Prim’s age, and you can’t even keep up with them.  How on earth are you gonna be able to handle yourself if we run into a combat situation?”

 

“The only way I know how!” I reply, gritting my teeth.  Tossing the water bottle aside, I blot the sweat off my face with a towel and step back onto the running track, determined to finish the mandatory five-mile run before lunch.  Gale, probably trying to be helpful, falls into step beside me, taking purposefully shorter strides than his usual to help me keep pace.

 

I manage to finish the run out of sheer spite, and after lunch we’re all herded over to the shooting range.  Finally, something where I can feel confident in my abilities.  I practice shooting both with a rifle and my new bow and arrows, courtesy of Beetee and the rest of the people down in Special Weaponry.  Plutarch had wanted me to have a weapon when we started shooting the propos, and a bow and arrows was the most logical choice since they were the weapons with which I was most comfortable.  But instead of constructing only a prop bow, Beetee instead made me a functional weapon, and one so stunning that I was blown away by its beauty when I first held it.  Solid black, to match my black Mockingjay costume, the bow’s sleek, elegant design reminded me of a bird in flight.  Very fitting, Beetee thought, for a Mockingjay.  

 

And I agree with him, since the bow shoots even better than it looks.  There’s even different types of arrows; regular, explosive, and incendiary.  So far I’ve only been allowed to shoot the regular arrows, but Beetee has assured me that the others shoot exactly the same.

 

I carefully draw back an arrow, aiming it at the target some fifty yards away, smiling as it lands square in the center of the bullseye.  Out of the corner of my eye I can see Gale aiming his new crossbow, smiling as his arrow lands dead center in his target.  I immediately notch and draw back a second arrow, imagining it’s Minister Antonius’s heart that I’m aiming at as I release, the resounding _thunk_ I hear as the arrow lands in its mark filling me with satisfaction.

 

I’m less confident once I move on to the rifle, unused at first to the loud noise it makes, and the kickback following each pull of the trigger.  But as time goes on I become quite proficient with it as well, managing to hit the bullseye every time and earning praise from the leader of my training group, Soldier York.

 

To my delight, after the first week Soldier York signs off on my progress, saying I’ve advanced enough for the hopefully minimal combat that I’ll see on the rescue mission.  I’m delighted upon hearing the news, thinking it means we can leave earlier than planned, when Haymitch tells me that Gale and I still have to go through additional training.

 

Led by Haymitch, Boggs, and Beetee, with Effie helping as needed, this extra training is designed to help us blend in better with the Capitol population.  Haymitch explains that while the people in the Capitol come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, with some being natural and some absolutely not, they have specific mannerisms that need to be emulated as closely as possible, not to mention the tawdy Capitol accent.  Since the security of our mission relies on our ability to blend in with the Capitolites until we can find the prison, it’s imperative for both our safety and for the safety of all of Thirteen that we learn these techniques.  Boggs says that if we’re captured, he wouldn’t be surprised if Antonius didn’t use it as an excuse to attack Thirteen.  And while Thirteen is built to sustain a non-nuclear direct attack with minimal casualties, it would still be preferable to avoid an attack altogether, if possible.

 

If I thought the physical training part was difficult, at least it came with the rewards of larger food portions at mealtimes and the promise of some uninterrupted, dreamless sleep since I’m constantly physically exhausted.  And while we still have to complete our runs and shooting practice in the mornings after breakfast, the makeovers, as Effie calls them, take over the rest of our prep time, something that Gale and I quickly come to detest.

 

There’s first the issue of our bodies, specifically referring to our scars.  My forehead still bears the three-inch scar from the female Ellipses soldier’s knife, when Rue was killed.  Plus, my hands and arms have several small scars caused by many years of hunting and gathering.  Gale’s hands are even worse from being down in the coal mines, and his back is a mish-mash of jagged, barely-healed stripes from his almost deadly flogging a few days prior to Twelve’s bombing.  Medical treatments in the Capitol are far more advanced than the districts, even than Thirteen, and with no possibility of completely removing the scars, Effie hems and haws for hours over what to do to cover them, since no proper Capitol citizen would allow themselves to be seen in public “with such ugly marks on their skin”.  

 

Since most of Gale’s scars are on his back, it’s decided mainly to just leave them alone, since they can easily hide under his clothes, and Effie gives us some kind of special hand soap that polishes many of the smaller markings from our hands and arms.  But my forehead scar still presents a problem.  It’s quite deep, and when several sessions with the gritty soap fail to make much progress, Effie finally gives up on trying to remove it, restyling my hair instead to cover the worst of it.

 

“That will have to do until you can meet with the stylist,” Effie says, sighing as she steps back, eyeing me critically.  “He’ll have access to much better materials than what I have to work with here.”

 

“They’ll be fine, Effie,” Haymitch says, sounding rather impatient.  “They’re going in at night and heading straight to Cinna’s shop.  It’s not like people are going to be staring directly at Katniss’s forehead.”

 

Effie glares at him in response as she packs up her massive makeup kit.  “Fine,” she says.  “Then why don’t you try and get them ready?  I, for one, would prefer for these two lovely people to come back alive.”

 

Both Haymitch and Gale roll their eyes, but any response is interrupted by Boggs clearing his throat.  “That’s enough for today,” he says in his deep voice.  “Tomorrow, we’ll have a dress rehearsal of sorts, on what we call the Block.  How well you do there will determine if I think we’re ready to go, and then I’ll present my formal recommendation to President Coin.”

 

My head snaps up, my eyes widening in surprise.  I assumed our mission was already a given, based on the fact that Gale and I have passed all the tests so far.  “But—” I start.

 

“That’s how it has to be, Katniss,” Boggs says firmly as he heads for the door of what Effie’s been calling the Remake Room.  “Get some rest tonight.  Tomorrow’s a big day.”

 

“Yes,” Effie agrees as she snaps her makeup kit closed with a loud _click_.  “Tomorrow’s a big, big, big day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving along, finally! :) I'm looking forward to seeing what you guys think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment. :)
> 
> I'm geekymoviemom on tumblr also, drop by and say hi sometime! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thank-you to DandelionSunset for betaing this extra-long chapter! She's an amazing author, and an even better friend. <3
> 
> This chapter is quite long, with a lot going on, and was tough to edit. I hope you enjoy! :)

_ “Good morning, Mr. Carter,” Minister Antonius says as he enters the Control Room.  “I trust things were uneventful overnight?” _

 

_ “G-, good morning, sir,” Carter stammers as he snaps to attention, straightening his uniform coat and patting his hair.  He awkwardly clears his throat.  “Ah, yes, things were fairly quiet overnight… um…”  He slides over to his workstation, grappling for a piece of paper covered with scribbled notes.  “Yes.  Peacekeeper Thread reported around midnight that he’d made a breakthrough with Soldier Eighteen’s interrogation.  Um… something about how he’d finally managed to get him to stop talking gibberish about sunsets and silver.”   _

 

_ “That’s it?” Antonius says in disbelief, causing Carter to shrink back such that he nearly overturns a chair.  “And he feels this is progress, does he?  Perhaps Eighteen is simply no longer able to speak properly!  This is not what I would call progress!”   _

 

_ Carter visibly pales, and Antonius raises his hand to silence him before he can even open his mouth.  “Nevermind.  I’ll speak directly to Peacekeeper Thread about this.  How are we on jamming these ridiculous broadcasts from District Thirteen?  I’m getting quite tired of seeing those same two faces every time I walk past a goddamn television screen.”   _

 

_ “I’m still working on that, sir,” Carter replies, trying to discreetly wipe away the sheen of sweat that’s broken out on his brow.  “Dare I say, these rebels have some methods that are quite sophisticated.  I still haven’t been able to isolate the frequency they’re using to broadcast.  In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s constantly changing, even as they’re broadcasting, because that’s what I would do, to prevent the other side from—” _

 

_ “Mr. Carter!” Antonius snarls, watching with morbid satisfaction as his new Head Trainer immediately snaps to attention.  “I am not interested in how the rebels are able to continue their broadcasts!  The only thing I care about at this point is how we can stop them!” _

 

_ “Y-, yes, sir,” Carter stutters, his eyes trained on the tops of his shoes.  “It’s my top priority, sir.” _

 

_ Antonius sniffs.  “Very well.  I would like some progress by the end of the day today, Mr. Carter.  My own dear wife cannot even watch her fashion shows without getting interrupted every ten minutes by another message from the Mockingjays!”   _

 

_ What Antonius doesn’t add, is that he’d also received a message the previous evening from Caesar Flickerman, informing him that the popular game show host wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to continue with his own propaganda broadcasts.  The message stated that Caesar had become too much of a fan of the plight of the Star-Crossed Lovers himself, and no longer felt comfortable speaking so harshly against them.  Not to mention the terrible damage it was doing to his show’s ratings. _

 

_ If his own wife, Lucilia, wasn’t such a big fan of Flickerman, Antonius would’ve ordered the pompous host’s execution without hesitation.  As it is, Antonius has had to waste enough valuable time providing acceptable explanations for the rapid decline and death of President Snow.  He does not wish to expend any further energy on explanations for trivial things while there’s an important interrogation being conducted and district rebellions to be crushed. _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Carter says, squaring his shoulders and tapping his fist to his heart.  “Is there anything else, sir?” _

 

_ Huffing out a breath, Antonius shakes his head.  “Not at this time, Mr. Carter.  You will inform me at once if there are any changes.” _

 

_ Carter nods.  “Of course, sir. _

 

* * *

I wake early the following morning, my stomach churning so badly that I’m barely able to free myself from the tangle of blankets in time to make it to the toilet.  I haven’t been this nervous since the first time I stepped foot into the woods after my father was taken.

 

The soft voice of my sister floats into the tiny bathroom behind me.  “Katniss?  Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” I mumble in reply as I try to catch my breath.  “Just nervous.  We have our Block tests today.”

 

Prim steps further into the bathroom, crouching down on the floor next to me.  “It seems like it’s a bit more than just nerves, Katniss.  If I had to guess, I’d say that you could be—“

 

“I’m not, Prim,” I interrupt.  I run my hand through my hair, wincing as my fingers catch on tangles.  “Peeta and I were only together for three days.”

 

“It only takes one time, Katniss,” she says.  “You know that.”

 

I shake my head.  “I can’t worry about that right now.  We need to get him back first.  It’s my fault he was captured.”

 

Prim cocks an eyebrow but says nothing, knowing there’s nothing she can say to make me change my mind.  I know she’s worried about me; she’s already told me she wishes I’d let the professional soldiers worry about rescuing Peeta and Dad instead of trying to do it myself.  But she also knows me.  She knows I can’t just sit back and do nothing while Peeta’s suffering in the Capitol.  I promised him I would protect him.  

 

“You know, Katniss—” she starts, trying anyway, but I cut her off.

 

“Yeah, I know.  But I have to, Prim.  I just have to.”

 

Huffing out a breath, she does her best to imitate my scowl as she helps me back to my feet.  “Just promise me you’ll be careful.  I don’t know what Mom would do if she lost you, too.”

 

I squeeze my eyes shut as I pull my little sister, who’s now taller than me, into a hug.  I’ll admit I hadn’t even thought about the possibility that I might not return from this mission.  My entire focus has been on getting to Peeta, and my father.  Failure hadn’t entered my mind as an option.

 

“She won’t,” I whisper.  “And you won’t either.  I’m going to bring them back, Prim.  Then we can all be a family again.”

 

Prim nods against my shoulder and backs away, reaching for my hairbrush next to the sink.  She carefully runs it through my hair, working out the knots as I swish some water in my mouth and brush my teeth.  

 

But as we walk down the various grey hallways towards the cafeteria, doubt starts to creep into my mind.  I recall Boggs telling me yesterday that the Block is designed to target my weaknesses, which up until now I haven’t really wanted to consider.  Unfortunately, as I consider them now, I find that they are plentiful.

 

One problem is my physical size.  I’m small enough that my feet don’t even touch the floor when I’m sitting around the table in Command, and Peeta always used to joke that I weigh less than a sack of flour.  I’m not intimidating to look at, that’s for sure, except for maybe my tendency to not smile.

 

The lack of training is also working against me.  I have to admit that President Coin was right when she suggested that two weeks might not be enough time for me to get into proper shape.  Even with the larger food portions I’ve been getting at mealtimes and Prim massaging my legs and back for me every night as I fall asleep, lately all my body seems to be doing is constantly screaming at me to rest.

 

I try to put the Block test out of my head and enjoy breakfast with my sister, but as soon as we’re finished and Prim heads off towards the hospital wing, the nervousness starts setting back in, nearly bringing my breakfast right back up again.  Only the appearance of Madge and Gale at the table helps take my mind off it.

 

Watching the two of them interact with each other is interesting, and I can’t help but wonder if Peeta and I look like that when we’re together.  Gale’s entire countence is different when he’s around Madge, like someone’s replaced my brooding, stern cousin who’s always had way too much responsibility for someone his age, with someone who actually allows himself to smile every now and then.  Even laugh from time to time.  I remember Rue telling me at the camp that she could tell Peeta loved me because of the way he looked at me.  If that’s true, then from what I can see, Gale is definitely in love with Madge.  And I have to admit, seeing him happy makes me happy for them both.

 

Unfortunately, the happy feeling vanishes almost as soon as I step onto the training field.  After a very brief warm-up and introduction by Boggs, we begin our test.  The first part, a written tactics exam, goes much easier than I had anticipated, instilling me with some much-needed confidence.  The second part, the shooting range, is a piece of cake, and I even manage the five mile run much better than I feared.  But then comes the final test.  The Block itself.

 

Designed by Effie and Boggs to test my and Gale’s ability to blend in with the Capitolites, it starts out fairly straightforward.  Gale and I walk down a simulated Capitol street, trying to keep our expressions neutral as we pass people dressed in Thirteen’s best attempt to copy the garish Capitol garb.  At first no one pays us much attention, and when we reach the end of the street without incident, Boggs orders us to turn around and walk back.

 

I’ve barely taken two steps when suddenly Effie’s standing in front of us.  “Well, well,” she says, her Capitol accent on full display.  “Such a nice evening, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Yes,” Gale replies, doing his best to emulate Effie’s accent.  “It is indeed a lovely evening.  If you’ll excuse us, ma’am, we—”

 

“Oh, what’s the hurry?” Effie asks, tipping her head to the side.  She steps forward, sliding her finger provocatively down Gale’s chest.  “You’re a handsome drink of water, aren’t you?  Why don’t you ditch the extra and come with me for a while, hmm?”

 

Barely able to keep a straight face, Gale wraps his large hand around Effie’s wrist, gently removing it from his chest.  “I’d, um… love to.  But, um… I need to see my sister back to our home first.”  He wraps his arm protectively around my shoulders.  “You see, she’s quite young, and—”

 

“No, no, no!” Effie exclaims, breaking character to wag her finger in Gale’s face.  “You need to be much more forceful than that.  And don’t act like you’re trying to be gallant by watching over your pretend sister.  Act instead like you can’t wait to be rid of her.”  Stepping back, she claps her hands and looks over to Boggs.  “Let’s do it again!”

 

So we do it again.  And again, and finally on the fourth try, Effie says we’ve improved enough that we should be able to pass as Capitol citizens.  As long as it's dark outside, and I don’t open my mouth too much.

 

“And keep the scowl off your face, my dear,” she says to me.  She breathes in deeply, schooling her features into a look of utter disdain.  “This is the proper look for a Capitol lady.  I want you to practice it in the mirror every night until your departure.  Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, Effie,” I say, trying my hardest to sound appreciative instead of petulant.  At this point I’ll say anything if it means we can be done with this nonsense and head to lunch.  I’m suddenly starving.

 

Sighing, Effie waves us away.  “Very well.  Be off with you.”

 

“Thank you,” I say.  Shrugging out of my pretend Capitol clothing, I head straight for the cafeteria, where I find Finnick and Annie sitting alone at a table.

 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Girl on Fire,” Finnick says as I approach with my food tray, his cheeky grin on full display.  “How’re things going for ya, Mockingjay?”

 

Shooting a scowl in Finnick’s direction, I sit down, biting off a large piece of bread instead of answering.  Finnick knows I hate the ‘Girl on Fire’ moniker that Plutarch gave me, after one of his initial studio propos had silly fake flames coming off of my costume.  That propo never saw the light of day, thank goodness, but for some reason the name stuck, and Finnick won’t let me forget it.

 

“Leave her alone, Finnick,” Annie chastises in her soft voice.  “She’s obviously nervous about the rescue mission.”  

 

Swallowing a sip of milk, I nod in Annie’s direction.  “Yeah, a bit.”

 

Annie reaches her hand over to cover mine, squeezing it reassuringly.  “You’ll be fine, Katniss.  You’ll see.”

 

I don’t know how she can be so optimistic.  From what she and Finnick have told me, growing up in Four was almost as bad as it was in Twelve.  There was a similar class divide, between the fishermen and shrimpers and the people who worked in the factories, and from what Annie has described, the Peacekeepers were as ruthless as ours were in Twelve.  In fact, before she and Finnick were married, Annie was very close to having to take out tesserae, after an accident took the lives of her mother and sister, both of whom worked in one of the shrimp factories.

 

“Thanks, Annie,” I say.

 

“Well, I for one am looking forward to meeting this Peeta,” Finnick says, gathering his and Annie’s trays as he gets to his feet.  “Maybe once he’s back you’ll be a bit friendlier.”

 

“Finnick!” Annie scolds.  “That wasn’t nice at all!”  
  
  


But Finnick just grins, winking at me.  “Oh, she knows I’m only kidding.”

 

“Hmph,” I grumble.  “You can go away now.”

 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Finnick says as he takes Annie’s hand.  “See ya later, Girl on Fire.”

 

I finish my lunch a few minutes later, and am exiting the cafeteria to head back to my quarters when Boggs appears at the entrance.  I wonder briefly if the man ever gets to eat, since I never actually see him in the cafeteria.  

 

“President Coin approved the mission,” he says.  He leans in, studying my face.  “Are you ready?”

 

My face breaks into my first real smile in days.  “Yes,” I say eagerly.  “I’ve passed all the tests, haven’t I?”

 

Boggs shakes his head.  “Yes, but that’s not what I mean.  When you go on a mission like this, you have to prepare yourself for the possibility that it might not go the way you want it to.”  His large hand cups my shoulder.  “Katniss, we might not find them.  And you need to be prepared for that possibility.”

 

A stab of pain pierces my heart but I ignore it, keeping my expression neutral.  “I said I’m ready.  When do we leave?”

 

Huffing out a breath, Boggs releases my shoulder, returning to his usual straight-backed position.  “We leave in two days.  0700 at the main hangar.  You’re to continue with your proficiency training until we leave, is that understood?”

 

“Yes,” I reply, nodding.  “Understood.  Thank you, Boggs.”

 

“This isn’t only for you, Katniss,” Boggs warns.  “If President Coin didn't see a strategic need for this mission, we wouldn’t be going.”

 

“I know,” I reply.  “I won't forget.”

 

Boggs purses his lips.  “See that you don’t.  Because if we’re not successful, we’ll have a very difficult time convincing her to try again.”

 

* * *

The hovercraft flight out to the Capitol is only around three hours, but it feels like an eternity to me, especially with how quickly the last two weeks have gone by.  I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly anxious person, but the nature of our mission, combined with my compounding fatigue and the moderate turbulence we hit as we fly, cause my stomach to pitch and roll almost the entire flight, leaving me barely able to stand once we land.  Gale even has to help me off of the hovercraft, being careful to avoid being seen by Boggs.  I can only imagine how quick he would be to cancel our mission if he found me unable to walk after a simple hovercraft flight.

 

Since the Capitol is surrounded by what Boggs calls a perimeter defense system, preventing any rebel hoverplanes from flying across the city’s borders for fear of being shot down, we land in the northernmost section of District 1 instead.  District 2 is actually the district closest to the Capitol, but it still remains Capitol-loyal, and houses a good deal of the Capitol armament.  Most of the remaining Capitol hoverplanes, and any number of soldiers and other equipment are all hidden inside a large mountain that Plutarch and Coin have taken to calling The Nut, after Plutarch made an off-the-collar remark during a meeting once about it being a tough nut to crack.

 

As soon as we touch down in District 1, Boggs herds us off the craft towards a military camp, set up about ten miles from the northern district border.  After pitching our tents, we join in with some of the other soldiers for more target practice and then hit the mess hall, where, much to my dismay, I find that the rules for food allotment are the same as they are back in Thirteen.  I think the last time I was able to eat as much as I wanted was when Peeta and I were in the refugee camp, before Rue was killed.

 

“You know if you keep scowling like that, your face’ll get stuck that way,” Gale says to me as we’re walking back to our tent after supper.

 

“Ha ha ha,” I grumble in reply.  “Like you even smile all that much.  And you can't tell me that you’re not still hungry too.”

 

Gale doesn’t reply, but as we duck into the tent and stretch out onto our sleeping pallets, I’m once again amazed at the difference in Gale.  I guess this new war with the Capitol has finally given him somewhere concrete to direct all of his pent-up anger.  And the fact that he and Madge don't have to hide their relationship anymore probably helps too.

 

“How’s Madge?” I say after a few minutes of silence, trying to distract myself from thinking about what condition Peeta will be in when we find him.  The two weeks of training seemed neverending at times, but now that we’re here, so close to where he’s being held, I’m very anxious to get started.

 

“She’s good,” Gale answers.  “She likes her new job, says she needs more help, but everyone needs more help in Thirteen.”  He props himself up onto his elbow.  “Did you know her dad was one of the rebel spies in Twelve?”

 

“Not before Haymitch told me.  But it makes sense, I guess.”  Being the mayor, Madge and her family had it a little better than the rest of the District 12 citizens.  Their house had a central heating and air conditioning system, like the Peacekeeper’s houses, and they were able to afford more food.  But even Mayor Undersee fell under the jurisdiction of the Peacekeepers, and I remember Madge telling me how many times her father had asked to have Mrs. Undersee transported to the Capitol, so she could receive treatment for her debilitating headaches, only to be told no every single time.

 

“Yeah,” Gale says.  “He and Thom both.”  Thom was one of the guys on Gale’s mining crew, and the man who knew about the existence and approximate location of the refugee camp.

 

“Oh?  Where’s Thom now?” I ask.  The last I saw of him was in the cafeteria about a week ago, sitting with Delly Cartwright and her younger brother.  Two of the few people from Town who made it to Thirteen.

 

Gale shrugs his shoulders.  “He’s on some mission to District Seven.  He couldn’t tell me too much about it.  Should be back by the time we get back, though.”

 

“That’s good,” I say automatically, stifling a yawn as I roll onto my side.  I’m suddenly exhausted.  “G’night, Gale.”

 

“Night, Catnip.”

 

The next day is much of the same.  Shooting practice, waiting in long lines for meals, and sitting around chatting with the other members of the rescue team.  By the time dusk rolls around, I’m wound tighter than my bowstring and snapping at anyone who tries to speak to me, which earns me a strong dressing-down from Boggs.  I don’t wish to cause any more trouble for him, but all this waiting around is driving me mad.  I need to  _ do _ something.

 

Finally, after two more days of last-minute preparations are completed, Boggs calls us to his tent after lunch to lay out the final plan.  

 

“All right,” he says in his deep voice.  His brown eyes flicker back and forth between Gale and me, eyeing us closely.  “Soldier Everdeen, do you—”

 

“Please, don’t call me Soldier,” I interrupt.  “I can’t hear that word without thinking of what’s happening to Peeta.”

 

“Hmph,” Boggs grumbles.  “Very well… Katniss.  Now, listen closely.  This evening at dusk, we will sneak you two inside the Capitol’s border.  There’s a safe area that we’ve cordoned off to ensure that you’ll be able to get inside undetected.  Once you’re through, you’re to head straight to the shop of our agent.  His name is Cinna, and he’s a designer of high-end clothing and accessories.  His shop is located approximately three miles from your point of entry, so you will have to remain hidden from any and all passersby until you’ve safely made it inside the shop.”  He pauses, looking directly at me.  “Can you do that?”

 

“Yes,” I say, without hesitation.

 

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” Gale replies, shooting me a glare.

 

Boggs narrows his eyes, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies us.  “Very well.  Cinna has the rest of your instructions, which he will relay once you’ve arrived safely.  We will depart for the border in,” he pauses to check his watch, “about six hours.  I suggest you both get some rest in the meantime.  I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.”

 

Standing to his feet, Gale pulls on my arm.  “Thank you, sir.”  We’re halfway to our tent when he turns to me.  “You really need to show Commander Boggs more respect, Catnip.  He doesn’t have to let you do this, you know.  In fact, it would probably be better if you didn’t.  There’s no possible way for you to be objective in this situation, and that can be dangerous.”

 

“And you can?” I snap, glaring up at him.  “Your father was captured too, don’t you remember?”

 

“Of course I do!” Gale retorts, his grey eyes darkening.  “You think you’re the only one who had it rough?  What about my family?  Posy never even got to meet her father!  My mom was out looking for work when she was only a week old!  You don’t think that was hard?  And then after the fire, knowing I was the only one with a steady job, and having to support all of you?  Trying to make sure Vick and Prim and Posy weren’t forced to take out tesserae?  Geez, Katniss, give me a little credit here!”

 

Tears of shame well in my eyes.  With all my grieving over my father, and then Peeta, it was easy for me to forget that others were grieving too.  “You’re right,” I say softly.  “I’m sorry, Gale.  I’m sorry you had to do so much when you were so young.”

 

Gale shakes his head, brushing off my apology.  “Yeah, well, I did what I had to do.  Like you did.  Just, don’t forget that there’s others who have lost just as much as you, Catnip.  That’s one reason why we’re fighting.  So no more people will have to lose as much as we have.”

 

“Yeah,” I whisper, sniffing.  I try to imagine a world where there’s no corrupt Peacekeepers, no tyrannical rulers, no more children growing up without fathers.  A world where Peeta and I could raise our family without having to worry about where our next meal will come from.  Or if our children will be taken away from us in the middle of the night.

 

Where we can be free.

 

It's a nice vision, this hypothetical world.  One that might even come true someday.

 

But first, we need to get him back.

 

* * *

The journey across the Capitol border proceeds without a hitch, and Gale and I only have to hide from a few people on our way to Cinna’s shop, located on the corner of a well-traveled intersection.  A small bell chimes as Gale cautiously opens the door and we step inside the small brick building, filled with rack after rack of carefully arranged clothing.  Hats and wigs of all shapes and sizes sit on shelves against two of the walls, with boxes of shoes piled five and six high against the other two walls.  Impulsively, I reach for the price tag dangling from the sleeve of a bright pink coat nearest the door, my eyes widening in shock as I see that the cost is higher than what Gale used to earn in an entire year in the mines.

 

Gale and I both tense when we hear a door open towards the back, relaxing a little when Cinna appears.  Boggs had shown us a picture of him, so we knew what to expect, but I’m still taken aback by how normal he looks.  His hair appears to be his normal shade of dark brown, and he’s dressed in a simple black shirt and pants.  He doesn’t even appear to have any of the body modifications that are so popular among the very wealthy people.  If his clothing was grey instead of black, he could blend right in with the citizens in Thirteen without blinking an eye.

 

“Hello, I’m Cinna,” he says in a soft, somewhat gravelly voice.  “How can I help you on this fine evening?”

 

“Boggs sends his greetings,” Gale says, using the code phrase Boggs taught us to identify ourselves.  Because of the propos, my name is now well-known throughout the Capitol.

 

“Very well,” Cinna replies.  He steps closer with his hand outstretched, which Gale accepts reluctantly.  “It’s nice to meet the two of you.  Come, I have some food for you in the back.”

 

Locking the front door, Cinna leads us to the back of the shop.  A long table with three large sewing machines sits along the back wall, with fabric remnants littering the rest of the table’s surface, and additional bolts of fabric resting on shelves off to the side.  A comfortable-looking couch, covered in plush red velvet, sits in the center of the room, next to a smaller table laid out with a spread of food that immediately causes my mouth to start watering.

 

“Come, sit and eat,” Cinna says, gesturing towards the couch.  “It’s lamb stew, my favorite.  There’s a restaurant nearby that serves it, and I pretty much eat it by the bucketful.”

 

“It smells delicious,” I blurt out, unable to contain myself any longer.  Accepting the loaded plate Cinna hands me, I stuff a bite of the scrumptious stew into my mouth, sighing in contentment as I chew.  Cinna is right.  This is absolutely the best thing I’ve ever eaten, next to Peeta’s cheese buns, and after weeks of District Thirteen’s bland food, my taste buds feel like they’re awakening after a hundred years of sleep.

 

“Please, sit,” Cinna says to Gale, who’s still standing next to the table, eyeing the two of us warily.  “You must be hungry.”

 

With a loud huff, as if to chastise us for wasting time, Gale finally sits down, accepting a plate from Cinna as I continue to stuff my face.  Besides the stew, there’s a basket of fancy rolls shaped like flowers, a fruit and cheese platter, and even a chocolate cake for dessert.  I can’t remember the last time I had dessert.

 

Cinna watches us quietly as we eat, the clinkling of silverware the only sounds, until it feels like my stomach’s about to burst open.  Sighing in contentment, I place my empty plate back on the table and lean back against the couch, closing my eyes.

 

“Something wrong, Gale?” I hear Cinna ask.  I sleepily open one eye, glancing over at my cousin who’s sitting ramrod straight and scowling at our host.

 

“I was just wondering,” Gale starts.  I can tell he’s trying to control his temper.  “How it must feel to be able to eat like that whenever you want.”  He picks up a leftover roll, tossing it between his hands.  “I mean, the breadbasket alone could’ve fed our family for a week back in Twelve!”

 

Cinna tilts his head, a soft smile playing on his lips.  “I must seem despicable to you.”

 

Taken aback by Cinna’s bluntness, Gale swallows hard, nodding.  “Yeah, actually.”  He tosses the roll one more time before placing it back into the basket.  “Did it ever occur to you that most of the country has never seen this much food all in one place before?  Or at least not that they were allowed to eat?”

 

“Yes,” Cinna replies, his brown eyes boring into Gale’s.  “Why do you think I’m trying to help you?  Now, if you’re finished, I’d like to explain the rest of the mission to you both before you retire for the evening.”

 

“Hmph,” Gale mutters, elbowing me in the side to get my attention.

 

Cinna slides a chair over to the couch.  “Now then.  Tomorrow morning after breakfast I will outfit you both in appropriate Capitol clothing.  You will then spend the day wandering around the city, mainly in the vicinity of the Training Center.  You are to visit shops, attend a show or two, and otherwise mix in with the rest of the Capitol citizenry.  You will each be carrying a device that will serve as both a communicator and tracker, allowing me to know your location at all times.”

 

“All right,” I say eagerly.  “Then what?”

 

Pulling a paper map from beneath the chair’s cushion, Cinna spreads it out on the table, pointing to the Training Center.  “From what I’ve been able to find out, the approximate location of the prison is around here.”  He points to a small dot, marked about two inches away from the Training Center.  “It hasn’t yet been confirmed, but it’s the best we can do right now with the information we have.”  He taps his finger on the dot, glancing between Gale and me.  “If everything goes well tomorrow, we’ll repeat the process the next evening, this time with you actively searching for the prison.  You’ll have your weapons with you, hidden under your clothing, but I urge you to only use them if absolutely necessary.  If you are able to determine a possibility for the prison’s location, you’re to return back here immediately.”

 

“What?” I exclaim, bolting upright on the couch, immediately flopping back when my stomach gives a lurch, my supper threatening to make a reappearance.  I guess I’m not used to such rich food.  “Why do we have to return here?”

 

“Because it would be suicide for you to go storming into the prison on your own,” Cinna says calmly.  “Your job is to only mark the location.  Once that is accomplished, Boggs will send in Thirteen’s military to retrieve the prisoners, after he’s been able to determine an acceptable risk.”

 

Tears immediately spring to my eyes.  “But I have to be there when Peeta’s found!  He’ll need to see me.  He might not remember who he is, and the people from Thirteen will only scare him.  Cinna, I need to be there!”

 

“That’s not up to me, Katniss,” Cinna replies, holding up his hands.  “I’m only here to help.  The strategic decisions are left up to the people who are much better at those than I am.”

 

“But—”   
  


“C’mon, Catnip,” Gale says, hooking his hand under my arm to help me up.  “You’ll feel better after we sleep.”

 

I highly doubt it, but I find once I’m standing that I’m too tired to argue.  Cinna shows us to a small room off to the side, outfitted with a large, square bed and a small bathroom.  After stripping off my shoes and splashing some water on my face, I crawl under the sheets on the bed, groaning as my tense body relaxes into the luxurious softness.  Gale takes the other side, pointing the other direction so our feet meet in the middle, and I think I even hear him sigh in contentment before succumbing to sleep.

 

* * *

_ The harsh ring of his telephone startles Minister Antonius from his thoughts.  Clearing his throat, he presses the button for the speaker.   _

 

_ “Yes?” _

 

_ “Ah, excuse me, sir,” the shaky voice of Head Trainer Carter replies.  “Um, I’m sorry to bother you, but I, um, we’ve received word from one of our spies stationed in District One, and I thought… well…” _

 

_ Rolling his eyes, Antonius scrubs his face with his hand.  “Just spit it out, will you please, Mr. Carter.” _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Carter says.  Antonius hears the shuffling of papers before he continues.  “Ah, we received word about an hour ago about some unusual activity coming from District One.  It seems the rebels have sent troops there.” _

 

_ Antonius waits, expecting more.  When no more seems to be forthcoming, he again rolls his eyes, questioning his impulsive decision to promote the stuttering computer expert yet again.  “Is there anything else, Mr. Carter?” _

 

_ “No, sir, not at this time.  I will of course keep you informed if anything further develops.” _

 

_ “Yes, yes.  Please do.”  Huffing out a breath, Antonius clicks the speaker off and slumps back into his chair.  Rebel troops conglomerating in the various districts is nothing new since this so-called war began, and he sees no need to be too concerned over it.  Especially since they don’t appear to be doing anything.  The decimating of districts Four, Eight and Twelve seems to be holding off the rebels from actually attacking anything, out of fear of retaliation. _

 

_ Antonius leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, pressing his fingers into his temples.  If there’s one thing that he loathes more than anything else, it’s having to wait.  He’s sick to death of waiting.  Waiting for President Snow to die so he can officially take over as Interim President.  Waiting for Soldier Eighteen to break, so he can broadcast it out to the rebels as a demonstration of strength.  And waiting for these rebels to actually do something, so he can finally retaliate and bring all this nonsense to an end.   _

 

_ His phone rings again.  Antonius sighs heavily, poking the button for the speaker. _

 

_ “Yes?” _

 

_ “I’m so sorry to bother you again, Minister,” Carter says.  “But Peacekeeper Thread just contacted us, and… well… you’d better come see it for yourself, sir.” _

 

_ “Is it Eighteen?” Antonius asks, straightening his back. _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” replies Carter. _

 

_ A sadistic grin breaks out over Antonius’s face.  Finally, some good news!  “Very well.  I’ll be right down.” _

 

* * *

The stream of bright winter sunshine falling over my face awakens me.  Rolling over, I immediately reach for the glass of water I placed by the bed before I fell asleep.  I gulp it down, grateful that my usual morning nausea seems to be a bit better than usual this morning.

 

Padding into the sewing room, I find Gale and Cinna already eating breakfast, poring over the map of the Capitol.  As soon as I sit down Cinna hands me a plate loaded with eggs, ham, and a serving of fried potatoes large enough for all three of us.  There’s even a glass of orange juice.  I’ve only ever tasted an orange once, when my father was able to trade for one for a special Summer Solstice treat.

 

As I eat until my stomach is near to bursting, Gale and Cinna talk strategy.  I learn that it was a friend of his, Portia, that helped my father when he was here in the Capitol, searching for the same prison.  

 

“Where’s Portia now?” I ask around a mouthful of potatoes.

 

Cinna’s eyes take on a faraway look.  “She’s dead.  After your father was caught, Antonius had her executed.”

 

I nearly choke as I swallow, the food I’ve already consumed now sitting like a heavy lump of coal in my belly.  I set my plate down on the table, my remaining appetite gone.  Glancing over at Gale, I see he’s having a similar reaction.

 

Maybe some of the Capitol people aren’t as different as we are.

 

“All right,” Cinna says a few seconds later, sipping what I assume to be coffee from a fancy ceramic mug.  My mother adores coffee, but we could never afford it, and I’ve never seen it served in District 13.  “Should we get started?”

 

Cinna works quickly.  He starts by taking a complete set of measurements from Gale.  Then he ventures into his shop, returning with clothing packed into a large garment bag.  I nibble on a roll as they work, running my hand lightly over the fabric pieces covering the sewing table.  It doesn’t take an expert in fashion to see that Cinna is incredibly talented.  I bet he could even make the canvas-like fabric from Thirteen into something enjoyable to wear.

 

I look up as they re-enter the room, and I’m amazed at the transformation in Gale’s appearance from only clothing and makeup.  He looks as if he stepped straight off the set of one of the Capitol television programs, all dapper and smart in a bright green suit and matching shoes, with a swipe of black eyeliner across his eyelids and some sparkly powder sprinkled over his forehead and cheeks.  With a final pat of his makeup brush to Gale’s chin, Cinna steps back, admiring his handiwork.

 

“All right,” he says.  “You’re ready.”  He turns to me, tapping his chin with the end of the powder brush.  “Hmmm… let me think… ”

 

After a few minutes of consideration, Cinna offers me a burgundy dress with a fur-lined collar, and a matching cloak with brightly polished gold buttons.  For footwear I’m given a pair of black leather boots, which while high-heeled are at least not those pointy heels that so many Capitol women tend to wear, so I’ll still be able to run if I have to.

 

Then it’s time for the makeup.  Because of the Star-Crossed Lover propos, my face has become well-known throughout all of Panem.  But instead of trying to completely hide my features, Cinna instead just enhances them, applying enough makeup to make me look like an older version of myself.  He also styles my hair in a fancier version of my usual braid, telling me that a lot of the Capitol women have been wearing their hair in braids lately, as a new fashion trend.  I can’t help but wonder what Minister Antonius thinks about that.

 

“There’s no way anyone will suspect that the real Mockingjay would sneak into the Capitol,” Cinna assures me as he applies lipstick to my lips.  “With how little Antonius thinks of the district citizens, it likely won’t even cross his mind.”

 

“You’re sure?” I say, unable to stop my voice from trembling.  I press my lips together, trying to get used to the slippery feel of the lipstick.

 

“Absolutely,” Cinna replies.  He steps back, eyeing us both up and down.  “Good luck.  And remember, today you're simply trying to blend in.”

 

“Thank you,” I say as Gale opens the door, blinking at the bright sunlight glinting off the buildings across the street.  

 

“Ready, Catnip?” Gale asks, offering me his arm.

 

I suck in a deep breath as I take his elbow.  “Yes.  Let’s do this.”

 

* * *

_ “What is it now, Mr. Carter?” Minister Antonius snaps as he enters the Control Room.  This is the third time today that he’s been summoned down here, and with everything else requiring his attention today, his already-limited patience is now reaching an end. _

 

_ “Please forgive me, sir,” Carter says, wiping away a bead of sweat from his brow.  “But I feel this is very important.  You see, I’ve recently updated the cameras city-wide with facial recognition software, and loaded all the identification photos of the district citizens into the program.  I was thinking that if the rebels were to send in another spy, we could use this software to identify them, therefore—” _

 

_ “Mr. Carter!” Antonius practically screams, causing Carter to shrink back.  Goddamn this rambling man!  “I do not care about the specifics!  Just get to the point, if you please!” _

 

_ Carter gulps, tugging on the tight collar of his uniform coat.  “Y-, yes, sir,” he squeaks.  Moving to a nearby monitor, he taps a few keys into the keyboard.  “The software I installed got a hit this afternoon.”  He points to the monitor.  “Now, since you have prohibited all Capitol citizens from watching any message broadcasted by the Mockingjay, I cannot be absolutely sure.  But this woman appears to be her, sir.  If not her, at least someone who looks very much like her.” _

 

_ Antonius studies the photograph in front of him, the face of the girl who’s been tormenting him day and night for the past several weeks.  “It might not be her, but let’s not take any chances,” he says to Carter.  “Where was this taken?” _

 

_ Carter taps a few more keys.  “About a mile from here, sir.”  He pauses as he pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.  “Why do you think—?” _

 

_ Tapping his chin, Antonius tilts his head.  “Mr. Carter, I would bet you a years’ worth of the finest seafood that she's come here to find him.” _

 

_ “Sir?” Carter asks, confused.  “Who him?” _

 

_ “Soldier Eighteen,” Antonius answers.  His thin lips stretch into a smirk.  “How utterly charming.  The Star-Crossed Lovers indeed.”  He turns to Carter.  “Has he been programmed?” _

 

_ Smiling as realization dawns, Carter nods.  “Yes, sir.  He is ready.” _

 

_ “Very well,” replies Antonius.  “Prepare him for deployment.” _

 

* * *

I lie awake, stretched out on the soft bed in the back room of Cinna’s shop, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.  Gale is already snoring lightly on the opposite end, exhausted from our day’s activities.  Although what we did today is probably less physically demanding than working in a coal mine for twelve hours, the stress of keeping up appearances was something that neither Gale nor I could prepare ourselves for.  Who would have thought that walking around a city, watching movies and eating in restaurants would be so tiring?

 

We did at least make some good progress today.  Keeping within about a three mile radius of the Training Center, we were able to eliminate at least two-thirds of the area as being likely to house a prison.  Tomorrow evening we’ll head back, this time concentrating on the remaining section.

 

Despite the seriousness of our mission, neither of us could help but gape at times at the grandeur of the ruling city of Panem.  The few views we’d gotten of the Capitol while growing up did in no way do it justice.  The magnificence of the rainbow-colored buildings that tower into the air, the fancy cars that roll down the wide paved streets —no gravel or cobblestone roads here— and the oddly dressed people with bizarre hair and painted faces who have never missed a meal.  Coming from District 13, and Twelve before that, the colors all seemed artificially bright, almost painful to look at.  I’m glad we’ll be waiting until twilight to venture out tomorrow.

 

Cinna relayed all of our information back to Boggs, still waiting at the rebel camp in District 1, who then relayed it all back to Beetee in Thirteen, adding the information to their daily military intelligence briefings.  

 

I roll over, breathing in deeply to try and calm my mind.  I can't wait until I can nestle myself down in Peeta’s arms again, snuggled against his warm, solid chest, with the sound of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep.

 

_ Soon.  Very soon. _

 

* * *

Cinna works quickly, attending to us between helping his real customers pick out a new coat or a new pair of boots for the snow that fell overnight.  Gale is outfitted in a dashing bright blue suit with matching shoes, with the same line of black eyeliner across his eyelids.  For me, there’s a forest green dress and boots coupled with a black hooded cloak, large enough to hide the small bow and quiver of arrows that Cinna had made especially for this mission.  My hair is styled in the same fancy braid as yesterday, tied at the end with a silk tie that matches the lining in my cloak.

 

“All right,” Cinna says as he applies a final pat of powder to the scar on my forehead.  “You’re ready.”

 

My stomach does a flip, and I clamp my lips shut as I swallow hard, trying to calm my nerves.  It wouldn’t do us any good for me to vomit all over Cinna’s pretty clothes.  “Thank you, Cinna,” I manage to choke out.  “For everything.”

 

Cinna lightly pats my cheek, so as not to disturb the makeup he so carefully applied.  “You’ll be fine, Katniss.  I’m betting on you.  Just remember, if you identify the prison, you're only to mark it.  Nothing more, as much as I know you’ll want to.”  He pulls me in for a warm hug, and after nodding at Gale, he walks us to the front door of his shop.  Gale shakes his hand, and we both take a deep breath, looking at each other with determination as we step out the door and into the twilight of the Capitol evening.

 

We get first onto one of the crowded passenger trolleys, riding it downtown to within a few blocks of the Training Center.  Exiting the trolley, we walk casually towards the section we identified yesterday, ducking in between a pair of tall buildings as a group of four Peacekeepers pass us on the other side of the street.

 

Once the Peacekeepers are gone, Gale and I head down a narrow alleyway.  A few Capitol citizens pass us as we walk, and my heart starts to pound a few seconds later as I notice another Peacekeeper approaching us from the side.

 

“Nice evening for a walk, isn’t it?” the Peacekeeper asks as he falls into step next to Gale.

 

“Yes, sir,” Gale responds in his best imitation of the Capitol accent, which is actually quite believable, at least to my ears.  “It is indeed a lovely evening.”

 

“So,” says the Peacekeeper.  “What d’ye think of all this revolution nonsense?  I know I’m beyond tired of it.  I mean, I can’t tell you the last time I was able to watch TV without it being interrupted by that little girl’s face, spouting more of her bullshit.”

 

My face automatically transforms into a scowl, causing Gale to nudge me with his elbow to snap me back to attention.  “Oh yes, it is getting quite frustrating—”

 

“I mean, really,” the Peacekeeper continues.  “It’s one thing to have to deal with all the shortages lately.  No seafood, and you know my woman loves her sushi, so I’ve had to listen to her complain about that non-stop, which is really getting annoying.  Personally, I can’t believe that President Antonius doesn’t just bomb the whole lot of them.  Remind all those district folks who’s boss, so we can get back to normal.”

 

I feel my hands clenching into fists, my blood boiling as the Peacekeeper continues his rant.  Gale glances down at me again, and I can see the barely suppressed rage in his eyes.  He’s having trouble too.

 

“If you’ll excuse us, sir,” Gale says, remembering at the last second to relax his jaw before speaking.  “My sister and I need to be on our way.”

 

“Sure, sure,” the Peacekeeper says, stepping back to allow us to pass.  Gale and I both nod in thanks, but we’ve only taken a couple of steps before the Peacekeeper stops us again.  “Hey,” he says to me.  “Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to the Mockingjay?”  He leans in, looking intently at my face before he lets out a chortle.  “I guess the odds weren’t in your favor, eh?”

 

“No, sir,” I reply as calmly as I can muster.  “I haven’t heard that before now.”

 

“Hmm,” he says.  “I find that hard to believe.  In fact, I’d say you were a dead ringer for that pesky little girl.”  He looks over at Gale.  “You might want to get your sister a tattoo or something, or dye her skin a different color.  ‘Cause I can’t imagine I’m the first person to think that, and others around here might not be so kind about it.  Know what I mean?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Gale says, his polite exterior still intact but shaking badly.  “Thank you sir, for the advice.  I’ll, um, take it under consideration.”

 

“You’d be wise to do so,” the Peacekeeper replies.  As he turns to walk away, we both hear him mumbling under his breath about how he’d never be caught dead with a sister who so closely resembled the Mockingjay.

 

“Let it go, Catnip,” Gale mumbles a few steps later, as we arrive at a T-intersection.  “Remember what we’re here to do.”

 

“Yeah,” I whisper back, scanning first one direction and then the other.  They both seem to stretch on for a while.  “Why don’t we split up?  You take that side, and I can take this side.”

 

Gale’s eyebrow knit together as he scans the street to our left.  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.  You’re not that comfortable on your own, are you?”

 

“There’s hardly anyone down in this direction,” I point out, gesturing to the nearly empty street.  Although it’s difficult to tell in the dim light, it seems as if the buildings are smaller.  Less bright.  I even notice a streetlight that’s burnt out, in front of one particular building that looks almost shabby.  Maybe a good place for a prison?  “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Mmm,” Gale grumbles.  “All right.  But only for fifteen minutes, then we meet back here.  You have your communicator?”

 

I tap my cloak pocket, brushing up against the bow resting at my side, underneath the fabric.  “Yeah.”

 

“Don’t do anything rash, Catnip,” Gale warns.  “Remember, we’re just here to mark the building.”

 

“I know, Gale!” I say, impatient to get moving.  “I said I’ll be fine.”

 

“Fifteen minutes,” he repeats as he takes a step down his side of the street.  “Then we meet back up and try again tomorrow.”

 

With a final nod I start walking, directly towards the shabby-looking building.  Something tells me that it’s the place we’re looking for.  None of the other buildings we’ve come across have looked like this one.  This has to be it.

 

Once in front of the cream-colored, two-story building I glance behind me, not wanting to be seen leaving the street.  Finding no one, I step onto the grass, wet and spongy from the snow that melted during the day.  Pulling out my bow, I creep around the side of the building on hunter’s feet, keeping low to avoid the first-floor windows until I reach the back, searching for an entrance of some kind.  I would highly doubt the prisoners would be brought in through the front door.  My heart starts to pound in anticipation.

 

I’ve just reached the back and am heading towards a sidewalk that leads to a door when I hear a rustling sound coming from somewhere behind me.  I jerk my head around, searching for the source of the sound while I hold my breath.  There’s nothing there.

 

Releasing the breath, I take another step, and nearly crash into a shadowy figure who suddenly appears right in front of me.  It’s a man, broad-shouldered and dressed in black from head to toe, a rifle slung across his chest.  I jump back in shock as a flashlight flares to life, shining its blinding beam directly at my face.  Instinctively I bring my hand up to my eyes, shielding them from the bright white light as the man rips the bow from my hands, tossing both it and the flashlight off to the side.

 

“Just where do you think you’re going, Mockingjay,” he says in a raspy voice.  “You’re not supposed to be here, now are you?”

 

His voice is cold, detached of all human emotion, and the sound of it turns my blood into razor-sharp icicles as my mouth drops open in horror.

 

_ No, no, no, please no.  It can’t be… it can’t! _

 

“I asked you a question, Mockingjay,” the voice repeats, advancing closer.  “What are you doing here?”

 

I try to scream for Gale, but it only comes out as a sort of strangled croak.  A strong hand grabs my braid, yanking my head back and forcing me to look up at him for the first time, my vision still spotted from the flashlight beam. 

 

What I see nearly stops my heart.  It’s one of my worst nightmares coming to life.  The soft light emanating through the clouds from the moon throws a shadow over his face, so I can’t fully see his eyes, and his hair is short, the soft, blond curls shorn off once again.  His skin looks flawless, the very opposite of the battered, bleeding boy that haunts nearly my every waking and sleeping minute.  There’s simply no way he could be anyone else.

 

“Peeta?” I sputter, the sound painfully ripped from my lungs.  “Peeta?  It’s me.  It’s Katniss.  I’m here to get you out of here.  Don’t you recognize me?”

 

His full lips curl into an ugly snarl, his blue eyes narrowing into slits.  He leans in, his nose only inches from mine.

 

“Who the hell is Peeta?”

 

The scream begins in my lower back and works its way up through my body, only to jam in my throat as I choke, my vision instantly blinded with white-hot tears.  His hand wraps around the back of my neck as he shoves me forward, the tip of his rifle poking me in the side with each horrible step.

 

“No,” I whimper as he drags me across the grass, over to what appears to be large hole in the ground, the mouth lined by two layers of smooth, reddish-brown bricks.  “Peeta, it’s me!  I’m your Katniss!  I’m your wife!  Please, don’t do this!”

 

“You’re my target, Mockingjay!” he snarls.  He shoves my head forward, leaning me dangerously over the edge of the hole as he pulls the arrows from the quiver attached to my back and tosses them aside.  The moonlight barely illuminates the bottom of the pit, and I can see a few pairs of eyes down below, looking up at me with a combination of curiosity and pity.

 

“This isn’t the real you!” I plead.  “You need to fight this!  Your name is Peeta Mellark!  You’re eighteen years old, you’re from District Twelve, and you’re my husband!”  I cry out as he lifts me off the ground, dangling my legs over the hole.  “Please, Peeta, don’t do this to me!  I love you!”

 

“Good riddance, Mockingjay,” he says as he releases me.  I scream as I fall, landing hard on a pile of moldy straw that’s barely enough to prevent me from breaking my legs.  I immediately roll off the straw onto the bumpy stone floor, where I come to a painful halt to a chorus of startled gasps from the other prisoners. 

 

I gulp in a breath, the rancid, stale air of the prison burning my lungs and causing my stomach to give a violent lurch.  I manage to turn my head just in time to avoid vomiting my supper all over my own lap, gasping and choking as hot tears sear my eyes.  Behind me, I think I hear someone make a sound of disgust, but I can’t be sure.  Once I manage to catch my breath, I look up to plead with him one more time, clinging tightly to the last shred of hope that this has all been a horrible mistake.

 

“Peeta, please!” I beg.  “Don’t leave me down here!  I love you!”

 

But when his shadow backs away from the prison’s entrance without another word, any remaining strength I may have possessed dissipates from my body, and I crumple into a heap on the freezing floor, barely avoiding the pool of sick.  I let out an anguished wail, screaming Peeta’s name, sending the other prisoners scattering back to their corners.  All except for one man, who approaches me with the utmost caution and disbelief, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

 

“Katniss?” he says, the sound of his voice sending a uncontrollable shiver down my spine.  A voice I never thought I’d hear again.  “Oh my God, is it really you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. :( :(
> 
> I'm always eager to hear what you guys think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment!
> 
> I'm geekymoviemom on tumblr too, stop by and say hi! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left me kudos and comments! I'm so grateful for your kind and thoughtful words! :) A huge thank-you as well to my wonderful beta, DandelionSunset, who's encouragement has been priceless. 
> 
> This chapter contains a flashback scene with sexual content, as well as a few naughty words. You'll understand why once you get there. ;)

_“He’s just arrived back, Mr. Carter,” the trainer says as he enters the Control Room.  “No issues were reported with the retrieval.”_

 

_“Thank you, Felix,” Carter answers.  His round face breaks into a wide grin.  Finally he has some good news to relay to the Minister.  He runs his hand through his hair as he walks down the hall to the Minister’s office, hoping Antonius doesn’t get upset with him for not calling first._

 

_“I need to see the Minister, if he’s available,” Carter says to the secretary._

 

_“Yes, sir,” the woman replies in a squeaky voice.  She presses a button on her phone. “Head Trainer Carter is here to see you, sir.”_

 

_“Send him in,” comes the curt reply._

 

_“Is it completed?” asks Minister Antonius as soon as Carter enters the room, forgoing his usual gruff greeting._

 

_“Yes, sir,” Carter answers.  “The Mockingjay has been captured.”_

 

_“Well done, Mr. Carter!” Antonius says, his voice more excited than Carter had ever heard.  “Well done, indeed!”_

 

_“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.  Um… “ Carter pauses, pushing up his glasses.  “What would you like us to do with her?”_

 

_“Just leave her down there for a couple of days,” Antonius responds, leaning back in his chair.  “That will allow me some time to decide the best course of action going forward. I assume any weapons and communicators were found and removed from her person prior to her imprisonment?”_

  
_  
__“Of course, sir,” Carter says.  “Our soldier was very thorough.”_

 

_“Then we have some time.  The rebels won’t know what to do with themselves, now that their mouthpiece has been captured.  And I do wish to make an example of her. I simply need to take some time to decide the most appropriate way to accomplish that.”_

 

_Carter huffs out a breath.  If it were up to him, he’d prefer to bring the Mockingjay in for questioning as soon as possible.  Perhaps even broadcast segments of it, in order to demoralize the rebels.  But what does he know? He’s only a computer specialist, and his position with the Minister is already tenuous enough without him questioning the Minister’s decisions._

 

_“Yes, sir,” he replies._

 

_Antonius narrows his eyes at his Head Trainer.  “You feel differently, Mr. Carter?”_

 

_His face burning, Carter shakes his head.  “It is not my place to question your orders, sir.”_

 

_“No, no,” Antonius insists.  He steeples his hands under his chin.  “Tell me what you are thinking.”_

 

_“Well—,” Carter sputters, pausing to clear his throat.  “I would just hate to… overlook, if you will, an opportunity to kick them while they are down.  I mean, the capture of their Mockingjay is a big blow, and one that should be followed with an even bigger blow.  Sir.”_

 

_Antonius cocks his head, tapping his chin with his index finger.  “I see your point, Mr. Carter.”  He straightens his back, tugging on the sleeves of his uniform coat.  “Inform the hoverbomber crews to prepare for immediate departure.  We are going to attack District Thirteen.”_

 

_A wide smile breaks over Carter’s face.  Finally they will make some progress in this ridiculous conflict.  “Yes, sir!”_

 

_“Now then,” Antonius says with a dismissive wave.  “I trust everything will be fairly quiet for the next couple of hours?  I have some personal business to attend to, and I would greatly appreciate not being disturbed.”_

 

_“I do not foresee any further reason to trouble you, Minister,” Carter responds.  He doesn’t dare inquire into the nature of Antonius’s personal business.  “I will of course contact you when the hoverbombers enter Thirteen’s airspace.”_

 

_“Very well.  Good evening, Mr. Carter.”_

 

* * *

 

_The beeping of his communicuff awakens Haymitch from his usual fitful sleep.  He doesn’t usually wear the bulky thing to bed, but ever since Sweetheart left on her mission he hasn’t taken it off once, anxiously awaiting any news on their search for the prison.  His heart starts to pound as he sits up, straining to read the message in the dim light of his quarters. Information sent at this hour could only mean two things: either something very good has happened, or something very bad._

 

_MOCKINGJAY HAS BEEN CAPTURED.  MAIN TRACKER SIGNAL IS DOWN._

 

_“Dammit!” Haymitch rasps, running his hand through his disheveled dark hair.  He knew he should have asked Boggs to postpone the mission for another week or so, to give Katniss more time to acclimate, and get used to following orders.  But he’s been almost as concerned for the boy’s safety as she has. Growing up with Dan Mellark, Haymitch knew that any son of his was bound to be strong. But when it comes down to it, there’s only so much abuse an eighteen-year old boy can take before he’s irreparably broken, and from the stories James used to tell him, the youngest Mellark boy has already endured more than his fair share, even before his capture by Ellipses._

 

_SECONDARY TRACKER STILL TRANSMITTING WEAK SIGNAL.  REGROUPING IN DISTRICT 1 TO FORMULATE NEW PLAN. WILL ADVISE._

 

_“Secondary tracker?” Haymitch says aloud, scrubbing his palm over his stubbled cheek.  He doesn’t think Beetee has had the spare time to develop any new communicator technology, so if Katniss is wearing another tracking device, it had to have come from Cinna._

 

_Very clever, that Cinna.  He may have just saved Sweetheart’s life.  If the tracking device wasn’t found when they searched Katniss, it’s very likely that it’s disguised as an ordinary object, something that a captor wouldn’t think twice about seeing and disregarding.  He doubts it would be a piece of jewelry; they would rid Katniss of any valuables after capture. It would have to be something less conspicuous._

 

_Maybe… something like a hair tie._

 

_“Still transmitting weak signal,” Haymitch reads again, tapping his chin with his forefinger.  There are a few reasons that come to mind as to why the signal would be weak.  She could be surrounded by a forcefield of some sort.  James had discovered the forcefield around the hidden third floor of the Training Center on one of his many trips to the Capitol.  It's one of the reasons why it was so difficult for him to break in, since it has to be deactivated prior to entry._

 

_So, she could be in the Training Center.  Haymitch certainly wouldn’t put it past Antonius to keep her there, to display her like a prize in front of all of his minions.  But somehow he thinks that would be too obvious.  Too predictable.  Antonius doesn’t strike him as the type of person who would mix in his secret super soldier program with his political prisoners; for security reasons that would be a bad idea.  Force fields also require a huge amount of electricity to maintain, which, since the Ellipses program was technically a secret until a short time ago, leads Haymitch to believe that the area inside the field is quite small, so as to not draw too much attention._

 

_So… unless the forcefield has been expanded, and with all the shortages and outages in the Capitol lately that doesn’t seem likely… then…_

 

_“She’s underground!” Haymitch blurts out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of his compartment.  Yes, that makes a lot more sense.  James had said the prison was hidden out in plain sight.  There would be any number of ways to disguise an underground prison, and with only a few Peacekeepers to stand guard, you could ensure quite easily that no citizens would ever wander too closely._

 

_Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Haymitch groans as his bare feet hit the cold concrete floor, then groans again as his various joints creak and pop in protest of being forced to function at this late hour.  Crouching down next to the soft lights running the width of the wall, he taps a reply message to Boggs into the communicuff._

 

_WEAK SIGNAL FROM TRACKER MAY INDICATE UNDERGROUND LOCATION._

 

_Haymitch waits, the beating of his heart the only sound in the room._

 

_UNDERSTOOD.  WILL TRIANGULATE LOCATION OF FINAL TRACKER TRANSMISSION AND FORMULATE PLAN._

 

_Releasing a shaky breath, Haymitch pulls himself back up off the floor, moving to sit on the couch instead of the bed.  He knows trying to get back to sleep now would be useless.  These days he's lucky to get a couple of hours in before the nightmares hit._

 

_“C’mon Sweetheart,” he mumbles to himself.  “You’re gonna have to think your way out of this one.”_

 

_Because he’ll be damned if he's going to lose both his best friend and his best friend’s daughter at the same time.  Not after everything that they’ve been through, and all the sacrifices that have been made._

 

_The odds have to be in their favor.  At least once, let the odds be in their favor._

 

* * *

 

I blink my eyes a few times, bile still burning my throat as his face comes into focus.  He looks different than when I last saw him.  His dark hair is streaked with silver, his face is etched with lines, and his grey eyes carry a note of defeat mixed with rampant disbelief and fear.  His hands, weathered from age and work, reach for me, as if to embrace me.  But I pull away, wrapping my cloak around me and curling into myself.

 

“Katniss!” my father says in a commanding voice as his hand wraps around my arm.  “Katniss, move away from the straw right now!”

 

He’s barely able to pull me out of the way before the floor opens up with a loud scraping noise, swallowing the pile of straw until there’s nothing left except freezing cold stone.  I sit in shock for a few seconds, wondering how many people have been eaten by the floor along with the straw, when it finally hits me that the hand wrapped around my arm does actually belong to my father.

 

“Don’t you touch me!” I snap, yanking my arm from his grasp as hot, salty tears roll down my cheeks.  “You left us! You left us, and we almost starved to death!  We almost died!”

 

Dad’s hands drop to his sides, his shoulders sagging as I turn my back to him.  “I know, Katniss.  I know it.  Haymitch, he wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he did anyway.  I’m so sorry, songbird.  I’m so sorry.  For everything.”

 

I don’t reply for a few moments, listening to the rustling sounds of the other two prisoners returning to whatever they were doing before I arrived.  Once it’s quiet again, I raise my head, still refusing to look in his direction.  “What do you mean, Haymitch wasn’t supposed to tell you?”

 

I hear him inch closer on the stone floor.  “Since I was from Twelve, the government in Thirteen never allowed me to hear anything about what was going on in Twelve.  None of the spies were allowed to work in our home districts, for fear of us becoming too emotionally compromised to function effectively.  But since Haymitch wasn’t technically a spy, he knew pretty much everything that was going on, including what was happening to my family.”  He sighs, sliding even closer, but making no further attempts to touch me.  “Before I left for the Capitol, Haymitch told me everything.”

 

I shake my head, reeling from the cacophony of emotions flowing through me.  “Then you know about Peeta.”

 

He runs a hand through his hair.  “Yeah, I know about him.  It’s one of the main reasons why I came here.  To try and save him for you.  I thought it was the least I could do after… what happened after I left.”

 

“Yeah, well, you failed!” I cry, burying my face into my hands.  “You failed!  And now they’ve taken him and turned him into a monster!”  Lifting my head, I look straight into my father’s grey eyes.  “They turned him into something he’s not!  They turned him into a mutt to use against me!  And it’s all your fault!”

 

“Oh for mercy’s sake, would you please quit your whining?” a woman says sharply from behind us.  Hearing her voice startles me; it hadn’t occurred to me that there would be any other women down here.  “You just got here, and I’m already sick of you!”

 

“Shut up, Johanna!” Dad retorts.  He glances back at the pale, skinny woman with short brown hair crouched down near one of the far corners.  “This is my daughter you’re talking to!”

 

“Well, then you tell her to quit her whining!” she snaps, staring daggers at us both.  “It’s hurting my sensitive ears.”

 

Turning back to face me, Dad rolls his eyes.  “Don’t mind Johanna.  She’s still a bit bitter about the fact that her retrieval was botched.  Although, she’s not much better when she’s in a good mood.”

 

“Retrieval?” I ask, curious in spite of myself.

 

“Johanna was the agent in District Seven,” Dad replies.  “She was responsible for tracking Ellipses soldiers that entered the district.”

 

Oh.  Like Mayor Undersee was the agent in Twelve, and Finnick in Four.  He and Annie made it to Thirteen around the same time as I did.  I guess this Johanna person was supposed to make it out of Seven at the same time.

 

“You only tracked them?” I say, looking around my father towards the woman sitting against the wall.  The moonlight coming through the circular entrance to the pit gives her pale face a sickly, yellowish tint.  “What good does tracking do if the targets are still captured?  Why didn't you try and stop them?”

 

Johanna looks at me, her brown eyes narrowed.  “You don’t know the half of it, little girl, so I would suggest you keep your mouth shut about things that you don't understand.”  She wraps her arms around her skinny chest.  “I’ve seen things that I bet your little District Twelve mind couldn’t even comprehend, so—”

 

“That’s enough, Johanna!” Dad says, his voice rising.  “Katniss wouldn’t be involved in this at all if it wasn’t for me, so you just leave her alone!  Got it?”

 

I watch as Johanna and Dad stare each other down, with Johanna finally nodding slightly as she looks away.  “Whatever you say, Jimmy.  It’s not like anything that I say will do us any good anyway.  We’re never getting out of here.”

 

Breathing in a deep breath, Dad turns back to me.  “Katniss, I know you’re upset with me, and I can’t blame you.  If I’d known that your mom would… well, that she would’ve been like that… “

 

“You would’ve been taken anyway,” I say in a detached voice.  “Haymitch told us Ellipses was targeting you.”

 

“I know.  But still… I could’ve maybe found a way…”  He reaches for my hand, and this time I allow him to take it.  “Katniss, not a day went by that I didn’t think of your mother, and you and Prim.  Sometimes I missed you all so much, I almost couldn’t bear it.  There were some days I thought I’d lose my mind from the pain.  I thought I was working for a better Panem, a free Panem.  I never thought—” He breaks off as a tear slides down his weathered face.  “I never thought this would happen.  And when I heard that Peeta was taken, that it was Alder who took him, I knew I had to do everything I could to bring him back for you.  I should’ve known that Antonius would use him to try and take you, to get back at me.”  A second tear rolls down his cheek.  “And all I’ve managed to do is fail you.  I’ve failed all of you.”

 

Another wave of sadness grabs me, pulling me under into its crushing depths.  I crumple forward into my father’s arms, struggling to breathe.  “He’s gone!” I wail, barely able to speak the words as I sob into my father’s chest.  “They took him and changed him!  They made him lost to me!”

 

“Shh, my little songbird.  I've got you,” Dad whispers.  His hand reaches under my braid to the back of my neck, rubbing comforting circles into my skin, like he used to when I was little.  “It’s okay to cry.”

 

So I cry.  I cry and cry, wrapped in my father’s embrace, until the tears finally run dry and I’m left only with hiccups.  My sweet, gentle Peeta is lost to me.  My husband, the love of my life, is lost to me.  I will never be whole again.

 

* * *

 

_Haymitch is sitting with Plutarch, Beetee, and President Coin for the daily morning meeting in Command when the holo begins to beep.  It’s Commander Boggs, still stationed in District 1._

 

_“Commander,” Coin says, nodding at the image of Boggs that appears on the small screen._

 

_“Good day, Madam President,” Boggs replies.  “We don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get straight to the point.  We’ve just received word from our spy in District Two that the Capitol has launched a small fleet of hoverbombers.  They are currently heading on an eastworthy course, presumably straight for Thirteen.”_

 

_Silence meets this revelation._

 

_“Oh, shit,” Haymitch mumbles under his breath.  “‘Cause that’s just what we need.”_

 

_“Thank you, Commander,” Coin says, shooting Haymitch a dark look.  She doesn’t even seem alarmed. “I trust that you and your squad remain safe for the moment?”_

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” Boggs says.  “Soldier Hawthorne has just rejoined us from the Capitol.  Would you like us to return?”_

 

_“No, stay there for now,” Coin says.  “The risk of your hovercraft being shot down is too great with an impending airstrike.  We will be in touch, Commander.”_

 

_Boggs nods.  “Yes, ma’am.”_

 

_The holo goes blank and Coin sits back in her chair, tapping her fingernails on the table._

 

_“So, what do we do now?” Plutarch asks after a few seconds.  He actually looks nervous.  “Madam President?  This is likely a retaliation for sending in the Mockingjay.”_

 

_“I am aware of that, Mr. Heavensbee,” Coin says, waving her hand dismissively.  “Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario. It is unlikely that the Capitol would launch a nuclear attack.  Minister Antonius surely has some knowledge of our military capabilities, and therefore our ability to launch a counterstrike.  Plus, a nuclear attack would release radiation into the atmosphere, which would have incalculable environmental results that would affect both sides.”_

 

_“And… so?” Plutarch says, gulping.  Haymitch can’t help but be amused at the portly man’s obvious discomfort._

 

_“We’re overdue for a Level Five security drill,” Coin says.  She reaches for her terminal, tapping a command into the keyboard.  The klaxon alarm begins almost immediately._

 

_“And, here we go,” Haymitch grumbles as he stands up from his chair.  He’s been living in Thirteen long enough to have participated in all kinds of drills.  A Level Five means an impending air strike, which means everyone has to head down to the bunker, which means he’ll get even less sleep than he usually does.  Wonderful.  Not for the first time, he wishes he could have a drink.  He and his friends used to sneak bottles of the cheap white liquor on occasion back at home, but Thirteen is a dry district, so no alcohol is allowed outside of the medical wing.  But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t ever wished for a swig every now and then._

 

_“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he says as he joins the throng of people heading for the metal staircase.  “You need to think your way out of this one.”_

 

* * *

 

I’m sitting on my father’s lap when I wake, wrapped in his arms like I’m five years old, his hand still rubbing the back of my neck.  My chest is heavy, aching with every breath I take.  My eyes are scratchy and swollen from crying, my throat is burning, and I feel dizzy from hunger and thirst.

 

“Is there any water?” I croak out through my parched lips.

 

“Yeah,” Dad whispers.  Holding me close, he slides us along the stone floor over to the wall furthest from the entrance, where a rusty spigot sits over a metal drain.  Turning the squeaky handle, he cups his hand under the thin stream of water and brings it to my lips.  I shudder at the sour, metallic taste, but drink greedily.  With all the vomiting and crying, my body feels quite dehydrated.

 

“Thank you,” I say once I’ve drank my fill.

 

“There’s some food too,” Dad says, handing me something that looks like a piece of our tesserae bread from Twelve.  “There’s not much.  We only get food dropped down once a week, so we have to ration it.”

 

Swallowing the hard, dry bread is difficult with my sore throat, but I manage, washing it down with another couple sips of water.  “They only give you bread to eat?”

 

“No,” Dad replies, shifting me on his lap.  “But all the dried meat gets eaten first, so the bread is all that’s left.  It’s another two days before we’ll get any more.”

 

Slightly more energized from the food and water, I take a better look around my new surroundings.  From the amount of light coming down from the pit’s entrance, and the sounds of snoring coming from the other two prisoners, I’m guessing it to be very early morning.

 

The place where I landed lies directly below the circular entrance, about fifteen feet away from where we’re sitting.  There’s a short dividing wall made of the same stones as the floor in the opposite corner.  The toilet, perhaps?  That would help explain the horrible smell over in that area.  The only sources of light appear to be the sun and moon.

 

In addition to my father and Johanna there’s one other person in here, a man who appears to be around my father’s age or slightly younger.  With his work shirt and overalls, he looks like he was plucked directly off of a field in District 11.  Dad tells me that he’s been here for about a year, and has only lasted that long because every time a Peacekeeper comes to remove one of the prisoners, he volunteers to take their place.  Johanna has been here only a short time and is dressed in all black, similar to the uniforms of the Ellipses soldiers.  Besides me, she’s the only one still wearing shoes, although the shoes have no shoelaces.  Dad’s wearing a bright orange, almost paper-thin shirt and pants with a drawstring waist.  I remember Haymitch telling me he was stripped of his clothing following his interrogation.

 

“Katniss?” my father asks.  “Are you able to tell me how you came to be in the Capitol?  Where are your mother and Primrose?  Are they safe?”

 

My throat constricts at the thought that I might not see my sister ever again.  “They’re in District Thirteen,” I say.  “There was an attack on Twelve.  Most of the citizens were killed, but Mom and Prim and the Hawthornes all made it out.”

 

Dad squeezes his eyes closed, inhaling shakily.  “Was it the Capitol?”

 

I break off another piece of the hard bread, turning it over in my hand.  “Yeah.  It was the Capitol.”

 

“And, why weren’t you with them?” Dad asks, his voice laced with that where-have-you-been tone.

 

I have to close my eyes at the onslaught of tears that follow his question.  I thought I was all cried out.  I guess I was wrong.

 

“It’s a long story,” I say into my father’s chest.

 

Dad shifts me on his lap and leans back against the wall for support, covering us both with my cloak like a blanket.  “We have plenty of time, Katniss.  We’re not going anywhere.”

 

Shoving the piece of bread into my mouth, I nod.  “Yeah. I guess we aren’t.”

 

I start at the beginning, even though Dad already knows some of it.  I tell him about Mom’s deep depression, how Prim and I were starving, and how no one helped us until Peeta threw us those two loaves of burned bread.

 

I explain how I made the pot of salve for Peeta’s black eye, and again a few years later for a different black eye.  I explain the beginnings of our tentative friendship, and how it eventually blossomed into a love that I had never thought I was capable of experiencing.

 

Dad already knew about the fire, but I explain how lost I felt after I thought Peeta had died.  How I could finally understand a bit of what Mom had gone through after he disappeared.  And then the elation at Peeta’s return, followed by fear over whether he would survive his severe wounds and high fever, and the heartbreak when he woke up and couldn’t remember me or our relationship.

 

When I get to the part about why Peeta killed the Peacekeeper, Dad’s jaw tightens and his hands clench into fists.  Shuddering, he pulls me tight against his chest, telling me over and over how sorry he is that I even had to be in that situation.

 

“Wait a minute,” Johanna pipes up from her perch a few feet away.  Apparently she’s been listening all this time.  “Your guy killed a Peacekeeper?  With his bare hands?”

 

“Yes,” I say.  “He was defending me.”

 

Johanna lets out a loud whooping noise, startling the other prisoner awake.  After a few minutes of generalized grumbling, and a few choice words from Johanna, everyone quiets down, listening intently as I explain how we had to flee District 12 and make our way to the refugee camp.

 

“And then, right before we found the camp, we were attacked,” I say.  “It was one of the Ellipses soldiers.  Peeta and I were able to fight him off, but if either one of us had been alone we would’ve been killed.  We found the camp right after that.”

 

“I always knew you’d be a good fighter, Katniss,” Dad says proudly.  “Peeta was lucky to have you there to help him.”

 

I nod, not wanting to divulge how scared I was during that fight, and how horrible it felt to kill another human being, even if he was trying to kill us first.  I don’t need Johanna to make fun of me any more than she already has.

 

“And the people at the camp, they were kind to you?” Dad asks.

 

“Yes,” I whisper, my heart aching as my mind brings up the memories of Rue and her family, and Thresh and Dot and everyone else who welcomed us.  “We stayed with a nice lady named Fern and her children.  She helped heal Peeta’s injured leg.”

 

As soon as I say Fern’s name, the man wearing the overalls snaps up his head, his brown eyes as wide as tea saucers.  “What did you say?” he asks, almost sounding frantic.  He slides across the floor towards Dad and me.  “What was the name you just said?”

 

“Fern?” I say in a small voice.  “Her name was Fern, and there were—”

 

“Six children?” the man demands.  “Were there six children with her?  Five girls and a boy?”

 

“Yeah, but…”  Finally the realization dawns.  “Oh! You’re Rue’s father! Aren’t you?”

 

I watch as the proud, strong man crumples into a mess of tears.  “Yes,” he sobs.  “My name is Jedrek.  I didn’t know what would happen to them after I was captured.”   He clasps his hands together, smiling through his tears.  “My dear wife, and my sweet babies.  You saw my babies.  They’re all okay?”

 

My chin starts to quiver.  “Um… they took us in.  Peeta and me, we lived in their house for a couple months.  Until… “

 

“Until what?” Jedrek asks, the happy smile dropping from his face like a rock.  “What happened?”

 

Tears begin streaming down my cheeks as I shake my head.  I’ve barely spoken Rue’s name since I left the camp.  It’s just been too painful.  “It happened so fast.  Rue and I, we were stalking rabbits in the woods near the camp, and—”

 

“No!” Jedrek cries.  “You can’t tell me that they made it out of Eleven, only to—”

 

“It was the Ellipses soldiers,” I whisper, practically spitting the words.  “They had tracked Peeta to the camp, and… they attacked us… it all happened so fast… I was wounded…”  I break off as a sob chokes my throat, and I bring my hand up to my forehead, tracing the long scar hidden under the makeup.  “We couldn't save her. I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s all right, Katniss,” Dad whispers, stroking my messy braid.  “There’s nothing you could’ve done.  Those Ellipses soldiers are brutal, and will stop at nothing to obtain their targets.”

 

“We killed them,” I say to Jedrek.  “I shot the man who killed Rue with an arrow, and Thresh killed the woman who wounded me.”  I leave out the part about Thresh smashing the woman’s skull with a rock.  “Thresh told me that they burned their bodies.”

 

“No, no, no,” Jedrek wails, clutching his head in his hands and rocking back and forth.  “Not my baby girl.  Not my sweet little flower… “

 

A heavy silence falls over us as Jedrek sobs, lost in his grief until my father pats him on the shoulder.  “She died free, Jed. She was living a free life, where she could eat what she wanted and be who she wanted to be, without fear of the Peacekeepers or the Capitol.  There is something in that, at least. Isn’t there?”

 

Scrubbing at the tears streaking his face, Jedrek nods.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

 

“She was always so happy,” I say softly.  “And we were all happy just being around her.”  I look up at Dad.  “She reminded me so much of Prim.  She just radiated happiness and light.  You couldn’t help but smile around her.”

 

“Rue was always like that,” Jedrek says.  “From the day she was born she was just the happiest little thing.  Every night when I would come home she’d be sitting there by the door, waiting for me, with that smile on her face that could melt ice.  She was one of a kind, my little Rue flower.”

 

“Fern and the rest of the children are still there,” I say.  “Peeta felt so guilty after Rue’s death that he left the camp.  I went after him, and Fern and the children helped me prepare.”

 

“Fern never could turn away anyone who needed help,” Jedrek says, a faint smile on his lips.  “She was always willing to help, even if it meant that she went without.  It’s one of the things I loved about her.”

 

“You’ll get to see her again, Jed,” Dad says, clapping him on the shoulder.  “Just like we’ll see Lily and Primrose again someday.  They can’t keep us down here forever.”

 

Johanna scoffs.  “Hmph. Ya don’t think they can, huh?  And I’m sure Plutarch thought his hare-brained plan was gonna go off without a hitch too, right?”  She slams the back of her head against the stone wall.  “We’re never getting out of here.  You might as well admit it.”

 

“Well, giving yourself a concussion is not a likely way to help anything, is it?” Dad says.  “C’mon Johanna, you’re not usually this pessimistic.  What’s gotten into you?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Johanna gets to her feet, stomping her way over to the other side of the rectangular room.  “All this damn crying is getting to me.  You’re not the only people who’ve lost loved ones, you know.”

 

“All right, Katniss,” Dad says as he lifts me off of his lap.  Nodding at Jedrek, Dad grabs a worn blanket from a pile near the spigot, folding it in half and spreading it out on the floor next to him.  “Sleep now, songbird,” he says, urging me to lie down as he covers me with the cloak.  “You’ve been through a horrible ordeal.  Try and get some rest, and you can finish your story later.”

 

Too drained to protest, I nod, cuddling under the warmth of the cloak.  “There you go,” Dad says as he strokes my hair, humming an old tune under his breath.  “Try and sleep.”

 

* * *

 

_“Sir,” Gale says as he and Commander Boggs make their way to the shooting range for their afternoon practice.  “Excuse me if I sound impertinent, sir, but couldn’t we be doing something more constructive than just sitting around, waiting for new orders?”_

 

_Lining up his rifle, Boggs eyes the target fifty yards away and shoots his first shot straight through the bullseye.  He steps back, reloading the chamber as he glances at Gale._

 

_“Something on your mind, Soldier?”_

 

_Gale aims his crossbow, smiling as the arrow lands directly in the hole left from Boggs’ shot.  “Yes, sir,” he says. “I don’t think we should give up on Katniss just yet.”_

 

_Boggs purses his lips, taking two steps to his left and lining up for his second shot.  Another bullseye.  “We haven’t given up on her, Gale.  We’re simply waiting for new orders, and with Thirteen currently under lockdown, it might be a few days before we receive those orders.”_

 

_Scowling, Gale lines up his second shot, which hits the target with such force that it’s knocked off its stand.  “I understand that, sir.  But… permission to speak freely, sir?”_

 

_Lowering his rifle, Boggs clicks on the safety and turns to Gale.  “You seem to do that regardless if you have permission or not, Soldier.”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Gale stammers.  “But, look at it this way.  We have information on Katniss’s current location.  It’s—”_

 

_“No, Soldier,” Boggs interrupts.  “What we do have is information on a current location of a weak tracking signal.  We have no way of knowing if this tracker is still on Katniss’s person.”  Releasing the safety, he again moves to his left, aims, and shoots.  “I’m not comfortable ordering another incursion into the Capitol based on only that information.”_

 

_“Then, at least let me go,” Gale says as he shoots his third arrow, watching as it strikes the target dead center.  “Let me link back up with Cinna.  I can scout the area of the tracking signal, and—”_

 

_“The answer is no, Gale,” Boggs says sharply.  Turning to face Gale head-on, he narrows his deep brown eyes.  “I can understand that you might feel some guilt for Katniss’s current predicament, and to be honest, I don’t enjoy just sitting around here and waiting anymore than you do.  But there is an acceptable amount of risk I am willing to take, and as of this moment, such a mission is outside that range.”  He holds up a hand as Gale opens his mouth.  “If there is a change in the situation that lowers that risk, I will of course reevaluate at that time.  But until then, we are to remain here until further orders are received.  Is that understood, Soldier Hawthorne?”_

 

_Gale swallows hard.  “Yes, sir,” he spits out.  “Understood.”_

 

_Moving to his left, Boggs lines up another shot.  “We haven’t given up on her, Gale.  We’re still monitoring the tracking signal, and if by some chance it starts moving, we will evaluate for a repeat incursion at that time.  All right?”_

 

_Nodding, Gale aims his crossbow, pouring his frustration into the shot.  The arrow lands square in the center of the target. “Yes, sir.”_

 

* * *

 

If I thought time passed slowly when I was back in Thirteen, it’s passing at an even more snail-like pace now.  With nothing to do down here except talk and sleep, there’s very little to keep me from wallowing in my own grief.  The presence of my father is the only thing that’s keeping me somewhat grounded.  He forces me, gently, to drink and eat when I try to refuse.  He strokes my hair, urging me to sleep after one of my crying jags.  He holds me when I can’t help but scream at the unfairness of it all, telling me that it’s a miracle that Peeta was able to resist the Capitol’s brainwashing for as long as he did, when so many others have succumbed much sooner.

 

Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.

 

On the second night, after another screaming fit leaves my throat raw and Johanna swearing a blue streak, Dad finally convinces me to try and sleep, saying that things always look better in the light of day.  I try and argue with him, reminding him that sleep offers me no comfort, that I only fall immediately into nightmares.  Still, he persists, and I finally give in only to shut Johanna out for a while.

 

As usual, I fall right away into a dream.  But instead of a nightmare, this time I’m brought back to the cave with Peeta, the day after our toasting.  Outside our little rock-enclosed sanctuary the blizzard rages, the wind roaring as snow falls so hard visibility is practically zero.  But inside, thanks to the blue-flamed Capitol fire, it’s as warm as a summer day in the Meadow. I’m lying with my head on Peeta’s chest, listening to the comforting _thump-thump_ of his heartbeat as my entire body tingles in the afterglow of our lovemaking.  His fingertips are trailing along my bare back, sending tiny aftershocks through me as he sighs in contentment.

 

But something nags at me.  Our relationship was mostly platonic until the day of his seventeenth birthday, when we shared our first kiss.  We were friends before then, but we didn’t spend every waking minute with each other.  And suddenly, I’m wondering what he used to do in his spare time when he wasn’t with me.  And who he used to spend it with.

 

“Peeta?” I ask, tightening my arm that’s thrown across his broad chest.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You told me once that you’d had a crush on me forever, but when did forever start?”

 

Shifting us so we’re facing each other, he brushes a loose strand of hair from my forehead, winking at me.  “I remember telling you that a few times.  I was a goner from that first day of school, when you sang in front of our kindergarten class.  I was in love with you before I even understood what that meant.”

 

I duck my head down against his body, blushing.  “Yeah.”

 

“But?” he says, nudging me lightly with his shoulder.  “There’s a question here, isn’t there?”  He nudges me again when I don’t answer.  “Katniss? What is it?”

 

I keep my face buried in his chest, not able to bring myself to look at him.  “It’s just… you seem to, um, know what you’re doing, and… I was wondering if… “

 

His fingers reach under my chin, tilting my head up to look at him.  His blue eyes are playful, the bright blue of the irises flecked with cobalt.  “And you were wondering, what, exactly?”

 

My face flushes even hotter, my eyes staring at the tiny dimple in his chin.  “In all that time, you never noticed any other girls?”

 

“No,” he replies.  “I noticed pretty much all of the girls.  But none of them made a lasting impression on me like you did.  You don't know how beautiful you are, Katniss.”  He plants a sweet kiss to the tip of my nose.  “Why are you asking me this?”

 

“Did you ever kiss any of them?” I blurt out, unable to take it any longer.

 

Peeta immediately starts to laugh, the sound reverberating off of the walls of the cave.  “Is that what this is about?” he asks. “You’re jealous?”

 

“No!” I protest, scowling.  I try to push away from him, but his grip is too strong.  “It’s just—“

 

“It’s just what, Katniss?” he asks, still laughing.  I love how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs.

 

“It’s just… I don’t have any other experience, and I was wondering if you did!”  There. I said it.

 

Peeta shifts us again, laying me down against the sleeping bag and hovering over me.  He dips his head to kiss me, coaxing my lips apart so his tongue can explore the contours of my mouth.  His left hand ghosts down the side of my body, urging my leg to hook over his hip, pressing our cores together.  He’s already hardening again, and it’s only been a few minutes.

 

“Unless you count a kiss on the cheek from Delly when I was nine as being kissed by another girl, the answer is no,” he rasps, trailing his lips down my jaw to my neck.  “You’ve always been the only one for me, Katniss.”  He thrusts his hips, grinding his cock against my center.  “Don’t you feel that?  That’s the effect you have on me.”

 

“Peeta,” I gasp as he kisses down to my breast, his warm lips wrapping around my nipple.  My back arches as I whimper, still not used to the intense ribbons of pleasure that course through my body with every touch of Peeta’s hands and lips.

 

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever kissed, Katniss,” he says as his lips caress across my chest to my other breast.  “You’re the only girl I’ve ever touched.  You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.  I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”  His hand trails down, over my belly and between my thighs, groaning as he finds me slick and needy.  “Oh my love, you’re ready for me again.  Aren’t you?”

 

“Yes!” I breathe, bucking my hips as he slips a finger inside me.  “Peeta, please!”

 

“Do you want me?” he asks, positioning his erection between my legs.  “You need more of me?”

 

“Mmm-hmm!” I whimper as I grab onto his backside.  “I need you!”

 

He grunts as he slides into me, rocking slowly at first.  He’s always so careful with me, letting me set the pace to make sure I stay comfortable.  His lips caress my temple, my forehead, my nose, and down to my jaw.

 

_“Peeta!”_

 

“Oh, I love when you say my name like that,” he says as he shudders into my neck.  He increases the speed of his thrusts slightly, hitching my other leg over his hip as he lifts himself up on his forearms.  “You’re the only one for me, Katniss. Always.”

 

“Yes!” I cry as he hits that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.  I weave my fingers into his hair.  “Peeta! I love you!”

 

“You feel so incredibly good, my love,” he whispers into my ear.  “You’re so hot and tight around me.  I can’t get enough of you.”

 

I bite my bottom lip, the coil in my belly winding tighter and tighter.  “Peeta!”

 

“That’s it, love,” he says, his thrusts starting to falter.  His eyes squeeze closed.  “Come for me!”

 

A few seconds later he cries out my name, shuddering above me as he fills me with his warmth.  His climax triggers my own, and I bite down on his shoulder as I come, clinging to him, our limbs wrapped around each other as if we’re one person instead of two.  It feels so natural, so perfect, I never want to let him go.

 

“So.  Did that help you feel better?” he asks teasingly, once we’ve managed to catch our breaths.

 

I smile, brushing his sweat-dampened hair away from his eyes.  Blue eyes, with flecks of cobalt around the pupils, in a sort of starburst pattern.

 

“Yes,” I whisper.  “I’m sorry. I just thought… maybe you just couldn’t remember.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” he replies.  His lips press against my forehead.  “I love you and only you, Katniss.  It’s always been you, and that I will always remember.”

 

We’re quiet for a few moments, and I’ve almost fallen asleep when I blurt out his name again.

 

“Peeta?”

 

“Hmm?” he says sleepily.

 

“If I’m the only girl you’ve ever kissed, then how do you know… how to do everything?  That we’ve done?”

 

Yawning, he props himself up on his elbow, the corners of his lips quirking.  “You mean sex?  I think you can say the word now, Katniss.  It’s not forbidden.  Especially after how many times we’ve done it already.”

 

Another blush floods my cheeks, and I look away.  “I know!  Can you just answer the question?  Please?”

 

He immediately looks contrite.  “I don’t mean to upset you, love.”  Leaning down to kiss me, his full lips stretch into a wide grin.  “But I have to admit, you’re pretty fun to tease—”

 

“Peeta!”

 

“All right, all right.”  He huffs out a deep breath.  “You know Rye and I shared a bedroom, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well… he didn’t always have all of his girls at the slag heap.  Sometimes… he’d sneak them into the bakery.  And some of those sometimes he didn’t realize I was there, in the room, hiding in the closet.”

 

“Oh…”  Understanding washes over me.  I know Mrs. Mellark viewed the time Peeta spent sketching as time wasted, so he would often hide in his closet when he sketched, to avoid being found by her.  “You watched him? With a girl?”

 

“Yeah,” he answers.  His pale cheeks, flushed from our recent exertions, turn even pinker.  “A few times.  And, as you and I grew closer, he started giving me advice.  ‘Pointers’, he called them.”  He shakes his head, flopping a damp curl over his forehead.  “It was pretty mortifying at times, let me tell you.  He even threatened to pretend to be me once and try to kiss you, when I confessed once before my birthday that we hadn’t kissed yet.”

 

“Oh!”  A sputter of laughter ripples up from my lungs.  “I would’ve liked to have seen him try that!”

 

“Why?” asks Peeta, his eyes narrowing.  “You think you would’ve recognized that he wasn’t me?”

 

“Of course I would have!” I say, leaning up to kiss his lips.  “He may have looked like your twin, but I could always tell the difference.”  I curl my hands around his cheeks, pulling him down for another kiss.  “His eyes were different.”

 

“Were they?” Peeta asks.  “I guess I never noticed.”  There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.  For how much trouble Rye used to cause them both while they were growing up, the two boys were fairly close.  Peeta must miss him.

 

“Yeah,” I say, brushing the wayward curl off his forehead.  “His weren’t as pretty as yours.”

 

Peeta leans down, pressing soft kisses along my cheeks, my nose, my chin, ending at my mouth.  “I’m glad you could tell the difference.”  He turns us, repositioning my head on his chest.  “Now.  We should get some sleep, so we can wake up and do this again.  Okay?”

 

I smile drowsily against his chest, already half asleep.  “Okay.”

 

_I’m glad you could tell the difference._

 

I jerk awake suddenly, bolting upright, my joints aching from sleeping on the unforgiving stone floor.  I’m shivering uncontrollably, a blurry image that’s been floating around in my brain for the last two days suddenly brought to the forefront.  I squeeze my eyes closed as the image becomes clearer, like a television camera focusing in on a faraway object.

 

 _His eyes were different._ That’s what I said to Peeta.  He and Rye were the same height, give or take, and looked so much alike their own father would often mistake them for each other.  But Rye’s eyes were different.

 

_Peeta’s eyes are blue, with cobalt flecks._

 

_Cobalt flecks, in a starburst pattern._

 

_Cobalt.  Not green._

 

The camera inside my head tightens its shot on the soldier’s face, bringing him into focus.  I can see his nose only inches from mine, his eyes narrowing into slits.  Blue eyes, with green rimming the pupils.

 

_Oh my God._

 

_It wasn’t him!_

 

My heart drops into my stomach, and I immediately begin to vomit.  

 

_Oh my God, oh my God.  It wasn’t him!_

 

“Katniss?” Dad asks sleepily, rolling over to gather my loose hair behind my head, holding it out of the way as I retch.  “Katniss, are you all right?”

 

“Daddy!” I choke out.  I swipe at the unshed tears clouding my vision.  “It wasn’t him!  Oh God, it wasn’t him!  It was his brother!”  My stomach is still pitching and rolling, but with nothing left inside to vomit out I can only dry heave, clutching my hands around my abdomen.

 

“Quiet the fuck down, Brainless!” says Johanna from her spot in the corner.  “Some of us are trying to sleep!”

 

“Katniss?” Dad says worriedly.  “Try and calm down.  Who wasn’t him?”

 

“It wasn’t Peeta who put me in here.  It was Rye, his brother!”  I bury my face into my hands and tip onto my side, the overwhelming guilt threatening to consume me.  

 

How could I think that Peeta could betray me?  

 

Dad only looks confused.  “Are you sure?  I never saw any indication that Rye was in the Training Center when I was there—”

 

“He could’ve been on mission!” I snap.  “Or maybe you just didn’t recognize him.  Could you honestly say that you would’ve been able to tell them apart if they weren’t standing next to each other?”

 

His shoulders sagging, Dad looks away.  “No, I can’t. And it never even occurred to me that Rye could’ve been captured too.  We always assumed that he was killed when the bakery was destroyed.”  His arms wrap around me, gathering me close.  “Katniss, this is not your fault.”

 

“I thought they turned him against me!” I scream, ignoring the sleepy grumbles from Johanna and Jedrek.  “What kind of person does that make me?  Peeta loves me.  He’s my husband, and I thought he betrayed me!”

 

“It’s all context, songbird,” Dad says, stroking my hair.  “You weren’t expecting to run into Peeta or Rye when you were captured.  And your focus had been on Peeta for so long and you were so scared for him, your mind just couldn’t comprehend that it wasn’t him when you saw Rye.”

 

I’m too wracked with sobs to respond, and my father simply holds me until I’ve cried myself out.  Finally I sit up, looking at him through my swollen eyes.  “Do you realize what this means?”

 

Dad’s jaw tightens, his lips pressing tightly together.  “Yes, I do, Katniss.  It means that Peeta’s probably still in the Training Center.”

 

“And we need to get him out!” I cry.  “It’s why I came to the Capitol, to find him.  To find you both.”

 

“But we can’t get out of here, Brainless!” Johanna yells from her corner, apparently giving up on going back to sleep.  “Haven’t you noticed that yet?  Or have you been too busy barfing and crying to look around you?”

 

“That’s enough, Johanna!” Dad says.  “If you want to help, then do so!  Otherwise, just keep quiet!”

 

Johanna pushes herself up into a sitting position.  “All right, then tell me.  How are we going to escape from a prison that’s inescapable?”

 

Pushing myself away from my father, I crawl over to the opposite wall, looking up at the entrance to the pit.  The stone bricks that make up the circular structure are almost completely smooth, with hardly any texture to use as a foothold or handhold.  And, as if to taunt those of us down here, there’s even a small ledge that sits about four or five feet from the mouth, on the right side.  A person could climb up to safety if he could reach that ledge, but with nowhere to place your hands and feet as you climb, it seems impossible that anyone could reach the ledge.  It would be at least a twenty foot climb, and with absolutely minimal traction.  My father taught me to climb trees when I was very young, and I’m quite good at it, but I’ve never climbed a trunk that was this smooth.

 

But I need to try.  Peeta’s depending on me.

 

I turn to look at my father.  “I’m going to climb out of here.”

 

My statement drops like a lump of coal.  Even Johanna shuts her mouth.

 

“It’s impossible, Katniss,” Dad finally says, quietly, like he’s afraid to upset me.  “I’ve seen men die trying.  There’s just no way to climb that wall.”

 

Scowling, I sit down on the floor to remove my boots and stockings, cursing the green dress I’m still wearing.  At least it’s loose enough around my legs so I still have full range of motion.  I toss the footwear aside, standing back up as I look straight at my father.

 

“I’m not a man,” I say.  I inhale a deep breath and swallow hard, trying to soothe my raw throat.  “I’m much smaller than the rest of you, but I’m strong.  I can do this.”

 

“Katniss—!” Dad starts, but he’s interrupted by Jedrek.

 

“Let the girl try, James,” Jedrek says.  “I know Rue could always climb much higher than the rest of us, and she was a wee little thing too.”  He looks at me, trying to smile.  “There’s something about these tiny girls that people tend to underestimate.”

 

My lower lip starts to shake at the mention of Rue.  It’s the first time Jedrek has mentioned her name since I told him she was dead.  “You’re right,” I whisper.  “People do tend to underestimate us.”

 

Jedrek turns to Dad.  “Let her try.  We can all stand underneath her and catch her if she falls.  But at least let her try.”  He looks at Johanna, who’s nodding in agreement.  “It’s about time that we had some hope around here.”

 

“Katniss,“ my father says, his grey eyes wide and frantic.  “Please, you need to think about this some more.  I've seen people try to climb up there, and the couple who made it higher than a few feet all ended up falling to their deaths.   And even if you were able to make it out, there's Peacekeepers keeping guard by the building.  You'd be barefoot and defenseless in the heart of enemy territory!”

 

“James—“ Jedrek starts.

 

“No!” Dad yells, turning on the shorter man.  “She’s not your daughter!”

 

“No, she's not,” Jedrek says firmly.  “My oldest daughter is dead, but she died living in freedom, which you said yourself was worth something.  But there's so many other people who never get a taste of that freedom.  I haven’t.  Johanna hasn’t.  You and your family haven’t.  So if Katniss is able to try to climb out of here, and maybe help us all win our freedom, we owe it to everyone to let her try.”

 

“But your family is free, Jed,” Dad says.  “Katniss told you—“

 

Jedrek holds up his hand.  “And if you know me at all, James, you know that I’m not only concerned about my own family.”  He steps closer, looking up at my father.  “This thing is much bigger than only our families.  We need to show the Capitol that we can fight back.”

 

“Daddy, please!” I say.  “Help me do this.  If it was me, or Mom or Prim being held in the Training Center, you wouldn’t hesitate to try and help us.  But I’m all that Peeta's got.  He’s counting on me, so I need to try and help him!”

 

“I hate to say it, Jimmy,” Johanna pipes up.  “But the girl’s got a point.  If any if us could possibly make it out of here, it would have to be her.”

 

“All right!” Dad snaps.  He turns to me.  “But, let's wait until nightfall.  It’ll be light out soon, which means a much higher chance of you being spotted.”  He takes my hand, tugging me back to sit down next to the wall.  “And it’ll also give us time to come up with a plan.”

 

“Fine,” I say.  “But we’d better think fast.  Because plan or not, I’m climbing out of here.  Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on pins and needles waiting to hear what you guys think! The last chapter had Katniss hitting rock-bottom, both literally and figuratively. I really hope her revelation here didn't seem like it came out of left field. When I was writing the last chapter, I was concerned I'd been too obvious with my hints, but I guess I wasn't. ;) Anyway, be sure to let me know what you think! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left me kudos and comments! Your kind words and encouragement mean more to me than you can know. And as always, thank you to my wonderful beta DandelionSunset for her help with these extra-long chapters! She's a wonderful author and even better friend. :)
> 
> This chapter contains illusions to torture and descriptions of pretty severe injuries. Since I have a medical background these descriptions aren't overly graphic to my eyes, but just in case people are sensitive, I wanted to warn you. :)

_“Mr. Carter,” Minister Antonius says sharply as he enters the Control Room.  “What news do you have for me regarding District Thirteen?”_

 

_Carter pales behind his round glasses as he licks his lips.  He’d been hoping for a bit of time to put a more positive spin on the rebel broadcast that aired only moments ago.  Apparently the disappearance of the female Mockingjay hasn’t put as much of a damper on the rebels’ spirits as he had hoped._

 

_“Ah, well, sir,” he stammers.  “It seems as though District Thirteen has survived the bombardment, judging from what Mr. Odair just said, and—“_

 

_“I am well aware of what Mr. Odair said!” Antonius snaps, his face turning as crimson as the uniform coat he's wearing.  “District Thirteen is alive and well! They suffered no casualties! Apparently all our bombers managed to do is knock down a few buildings on the surface that have been vacant since the Dark Days!”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Carter squeaks.  “It appears that our, um, intelligence of the layout of District Thirteen was outdated, so—“_

 

_“Mr. Carter,” Antonius says, his voice dangerously low.  “Might I suggest that in the future, you ensure the accuracy of your intelligence prior to ordering an attack?  We lost two hoverbombers from Thirteen’s anti-aircraft defenses!”_

 

_Carter grimaces, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple towards his ear.  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”_

 

_Antonius breathes in deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself.  “Very well. I will be busy attending to other various matters for the rest of the day.”  He straightens his back, tugging on the sleeves of his coat. “Tomorrow we will begin questioning the Mockingjay, so I want her retrieved from the pit shortly before dawn tomorrow.  You will make the necessary arrangements.”_

 

_“You would like her to be brought here, sir?” Carter asks.  He supposes it’s too much to hope that he won't be asked to perform her questioning._

 

_“Yes,” Antonius answers.  “Have her placed in the cell next to Eighteen.”  His thin lips stretch into a cruel smirk.  “So he’ll be able to hear his Star-Crossed lover’s screams as he dies.”_

 

* * *

 

_Haymitch leans over his coffee cup and inhales deeply, reveling in the pungent smell of the dark brown liquid.  He can’t remember the last time he even smelled coffee, much less was allowed to drink some.  Wrapping his hands around the cup, he brings it to his lips, taking a tiny sip of the steaming hot drink as he closes his eyes briefly in pleasure.  It's not exactly the white liquor he was craving during the attack, but it's almost as good._

 

_Glancing around the room, he can see that Plutarch and Finnick are enjoying their coffee even more than he.  Plutarch’s holding his cup so tightly that his knuckles are white, and his face carries a look of pure bliss.  Haymitch chuckles, thinking that they could hear they have to spend another two nights down in the bunker right now and it wouldn’t even register to Plutarch._

 

_“Now, then,” Coin says, placing her mug next to her computer terminal.  She turns to her communications expert. “Beetee.  Can we ensure that Finnick’s recent broadcast was seen in the Capitol?”_

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” Beetee replies.  He takes a sip from a nearby glass of water, having refused the offer of coffee, saying caffeine makes him too jittery to think clearly.  “We are positive.”_

 

_“All right,” Coin says.  She turns to look at the holo screen, where Commander Boggs is waiting.  “Commander. How are things on your end?”_

 

_“We’re doing well here, Madam President,” Boggs replies.  “Maintaining our level of readiness.”_

 

_“I understand you have a proposal you wish to make?” Coin asks, prompting Plutarch to look up from worshipping his coffee cup._

 

_Boggs purses his lips.  “Yes, ma’am. As you know, we are still tracking what we presume to be the current location of Katniss Everdeen.  About an hour ago, I received word from Commander Paylor, who’s currently stationed in District Five.  She and her troops have developed a plan to sneak explosives onto the dam that supplies the majority of electricity to the Capitol.”_

 

_Silence greets this revelation.  Haymitch raises his eyebrows, glancing around the room.  It’s a bold plan.  Even more bold than sending the Mockingjay into the Capitol.  Up until now, the troops in the districts have been only concerned with removing their occupying Peacekeepers.  To attack the Capitol itself, even indirectly, hasn’t yet been attempted._

 

_“I see,” Coin says.  She reaches for her mug, bringing it to her lips.  “And what is the projected casualty rate for this attack?”_

 

_“Paylor estimates between five and ten percent,” Boggs admits with a sigh.  “But she assures me that everyone who will be carrying the explosives has volunteered, ma’am.  She herself would never order such an attack with such a high casualty estimate.”_

 

_Coin looks over at Plutarch, whose bushy eyebrows are raised so high on his forehead Haymitch has to bite back a chuckle.  Plutarch gives a slight shake of his head.  “It’s definitely bold, Madam President,” he says.  “If we’re looking to send a message that our spirit hasn’t been crushed from our recent setbacks, this is as good as any.”_

 

_“Mmm-hmm,” Coin mumbles.  She looks over at Haymitch.  “And what are your thoughts, Mr. Abernathy?”_

 

_“I think if they’re successful, we can go in and rescue the Mockingjay,” Haymitch says without hesitation.  “With their electricity gone, they would have no perimeter defense, no way to launch their surface-to-air missiles, no surveillance cameras, etc.  We have Katniss’s location, and unless I’m mistaken, I’m betting you that James is down there with her.”  He looks over at Plutarch, frowning slightly.  “And who knows how many others.  Commander Boggs could have teams hit both the prison and the Training Center.  He could be in an out of the Capitol in two hours or less, and it would be a double blow to the Capitol’s morale.”_

 

_Tapping her pencil eraser against the tabletop, Coin nods.  “Very well, Commander,” she says into the holo.  “Inform Commander Paylor that her mission is a go.  Coordinate with her for the optimal time to enter the Capitol once the dam has been destroyed.”_

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” Boggs replies._

 

_“Madam President,” Plutarch says once Boggs has clicked off.  “This would be a ripe opportunity to gather some excellent propo footage.”_

 

_Coin narrows her eyes over the top of her coffee mug.  “Go on.”_

 

_Plutarch grins, folding his hands.  “The reunion of the Star-Crossed lovers would be an excellent boost to the morale in the districts.  And capturing it live on camera would be even more exquisite.  With your permission, I can have the camera crew on the next hovercraft to District One.”_

 

_“No,” Haymitch states.  He leans forward, his brow furrowing in disgust.  “Neither Katniss nor Peeta have agreed to this, not to mention any other prisoners that might be involved.  It wouldn’t be ethical.”_

 

_Plutarch smirks.  “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.  It is for the cause, after all.”_

 

_“And I’m absolutely positive that they would mind!” Haymitch yells, slamming his palm down on the tabletop.  “The boy’s been held captive for weeks, and you in particular know damn well what kind of condition he’ll likely be in when they find him.  I may not know Katniss very well, but I know her father very, very well.  And I know he wouldn’t want his daughter’s rescue of her husband filmed for the entire country to see!”_

 

_“Lower your voice, Mr. Abernathy,” Coin says, glaring her pale grey eyes at Haymitch.  “Mr. Heavensbee does have a valid point.  However, since the camera crew has not yet completed their combat training, it would not be appropriate to send them into a combat situation as of yet.  We can have the crew standing by when the rescuers land here in Thirteen, and you can obtain your footage then.”_

 

_Haymitch clenches his fist.  “But—“_

 

_“That’s my final word, Mr. Abernathy,” Coin says firmly.  She looks around the room.  “Anything else?”_

 

_“No, ma’am,” Beetee replies.  Plutarch and Haymitch both shake their heads._

 

_“Very well.”  Checking her forearm, Coin drains the last of the coffee in her cup, pushes back from the table, and heads out of the room, leaving Haymitch fuming._

 

* * *

 

“Now, listen carefully, Katniss,” Dad says as Johanna rubs my pinky fingernail against one of the rough stones on the floor, shaping it into a point.  She’s already completed the rest of the fingers on my right hand, saying that the sharper edges will help me dig into the stones of the wall as I climb.  I remember rolling my eyes when Cinna applied the fake fingernails over my own that were chewed down to the quick, thinking there was no need to pay such close attention to my hands.  How grateful I am for his foresight now.

 

“I’m listening,” I say as Johanna takes my left hand, starting to work on the thumb.

 

“From what I was able to learn, there are only two Peacekeepers standing guard around the prison.  This street is usually cordoned off from foot traffic, so the need for guards is minimal.  There are shift changes every eight hours, and so the most optimal time for you to reach the top of the pit would be right before the nighttime shift change.  The Peacekeepers on duty will be antsy, waiting to be relieved, and perhaps not as observant as they might usually be.”

 

“Okay.  Ow!” I wince as Johanna accidentally nicks my skin on the stone instead of my fingernail.

 

“Sorry, Brainless,” Johanna mumbles.

 

“This time of year, sundown in the Capitol is around 1730, which means the shift change should be around 2100.”  He looks towards the entrance, eyeing it critically.  “I’m estimating that it'll take you about thirty minutes to make the climb, so you should start at no later than 2000.”

 

“I should do your toes, too,” Johanna says, releasing my hand.  I scrape my newly sharpened nail across my skin, flinching when I nearly draw blood.

 

“Yeah, okay,” I reply.

 

Dad takes a deep breath.  “We’ll all be standing under you, just in case you—“

 

“I’m not going to fall, Dad,” I say firmly.

 

“Even so,” he insists.  “Just in case.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine,” he repeats.  “Now.  As soon as you get out, you’ll need to make your way back to Cinna’s shop as quickly as possible.  You’ll have no footwear, and it's going to be freezing cold—“

 

“I know, Dad!  I've had to hunt barefoot before.  I’ll be fine!”  Hurt flashes across his face and my heart lurches.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just anxious to get started.”

 

Jedrek walks over to the entrance, looking up at the sky.  “I’d say we have about three hours until sundown,” he says.  “You should eat something, and then try to rest.  I have a feeling you're in for a long night.”

 

“All right.”  Accepting the dry piece of bread Dad passes me, I lean back against the wall, closing my eyes as I chew.

 

_Not too much longer, Peeta.  Please, hang on!_

 

* * *

 

_“Yes.  Yes, yes, understood,” Boggs says into the holo.  “We will be in touch.  Good luck, Commander.”_

 

_“Everything’s set, then?” Gale asks as Boggs switches off the communication device._

 

_Boggs nods grimly.  “Paylor says the attack will commence one hour after sundown tomorrow.”_

 

_Gale looks back down at the rifle he’s reassembling.  “Did she happen to mention who’s leading the attack, sir?”_

 

_“She did,” Boggs replies, picking up his own rifle and removing the magazine.  “It’s your buddy from Twelve. Thom.”_

 

_Gulping, Gale huffs out a breath.  He briefly wonders if Delly Cartwright is aware of what Thom is up to.  He knows he tends to leave out various details during his holo conversations with Madge, and he tells his mother even less.  There’s just some things that are better off waiting to share with loved ones until after the fact._

 

_“Thom’s a good choice, sir,”_

 

_“Yes, he is,” Boggs says as he unlocks the muzzle of his rifle, dropping some cleaning solution onto a rag and wiping it down.  “The whole attack was his idea, as was the attack on the Peacekeepers in the forest of District Seven.”_

 

_“And what are our orders, sir?” Gale asks, setting down his rifle and picking up his crossbow.  He thinks briefly about asking Boggs how much he tells his wife about their missions, and decides against it._

 

_“We are to monitor their progress from here, maintaining readiness.  As soon as a Capitol blackout is confirmed, we will enter the city’s borders and move on the location of Katniss’s tracker.”_

 

_“Taking advantage of the likely pandemonium that will follow,” Gale says, nodding.  “Do we know if the Training Center has generators?  I’d hate for Antonius and his lackeys to still be able to track us from there.”_

 

_Boggs reattaches the muzzle to his rifle, setting it gently down and reaching for his pistol.  “We believe they do, yes.  But the recent fuel shortages will hopefully make them obsolete in this case.  And there hasn't been a significant power outage in the Capitol in decades.  We should be able to expect chaos.  Even in the Training Center.”_

 

_Gale sets down his polishing rag, looking over his crossbow with a critical eye, making sure he didn’t miss any spots.  After surviving the Peacekeeper crackdown and bombing in District 12, Gale feels confident he can handle the chaos caused by one power outage._

 

_“That’s good, sir.  I’ll be ready.”_

 

* * *

 

The two hours between sundown and the time to begin the climb feel like two days, with nothing to do except pace back and forth impatiently and try to keep down food and water.  The lack of decent food hasn't seemed to temper my recent nausea at all, and a part of me grudgingly admits that maybe Prim was right.  Maybe there is a possibility I could be expecting Peeta’s baby.

 

I sit back down against the wall, bringing my clammy palm to my lower abdomen, as if to protect the possible innocent life inside.  If Peeta and I did conceive during our time in the cave, then it's even more incentive to get him out from under Antonius’s thumb.  If anyone in this wretched country has ever deserved to be a father, it’s Peeta.  The thought brings a small smile to my face, remembering when he once told me that he often dreamed about our future children.  A little girl, with my hair and his eyes, who loved to bake like her daddy, and a little boy, with blond hair and grey eyes who loved to hunt, like me.

 

I wonder which version of that dream will come true.  Closing my eyes, I press my hand more firmly against my belly, picturing us back in the Meadow in Twelve, watching as our daughter dances among the dandelions and wildflowers, the warm spring breeze carrying her peals of laughter.

 

_What a beautiful sound!_

 

“Katniss?” my father says, startling me awake, the wisps of my happy dream blowing away like dandelion seeds.  I blink open my eyes to find him looking at me, his grey eyes full of concern.  “It’s now or never. Are you ready?”

 

I swallow hard, nodding as I stand to my feet.  “Yes. I’m ready.”

 

All three of them follow me over to the entrance of the pit.  It was decided earlier in the day that I would make my attempt slightly to the right of the ledge.  Since I’m left-handed, this will allow me to reach the ledge with my dominant, stronger side first.

 

Dad grabs me, pulling me into a hug.  “Be careful, my little songbird.”

 

I press a quick kiss to his cheek.  “I will.”

 

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes as I exhale, placing my hands against the curved wall above my head, shoulder-width apart.  My newly-sharpened fingernails dig slightly into the stone, offering me a bit of leverage as I raise my left leg, wiggling my toes until the nails burrow in enough for me attempt to move.  It’s uncomfortable, but not too bad.

 

“That’s it, Katniss,” my father says as I take another step.  And another, and then another.  “Nice and steady.”

 

I don’t start to shake until around the seventh or eighth step.  The sheen of sweat that’s broken out along my brow and temples pools, then starts running down my face and into my eyes in hot, salty streaks.  My fingernails digging into the stone begin to bleed, which I only notice when the blood starts seeping out from underneath the brightly painted tips.  I feel the toenail on my third toe start to separate from the nail bed as I grit my teeth, pushing off for yet another step.

 

“That’s it, Katniss!”  My father must sense it too, since his voice is both rising in pitch and volume.  “You’re doing just fine!  You’re over halfway there!”

 

“Aahh!” I cry as my right foot slips, causing me to slam my forehead against the wall as I try to regain my balance.  My vision blurs as blood rushes past my ears, nearly drowning out the sounds of my three advocates twelve feet below me.

 

“Katniss!” Dad screams.  “Katniss, are you okay?”

 

My hands are so coated in sweat it’s a miracle I’m able to hold on.  My feet are shaking badly, my ankles and calves so cramped they feel like rods of iron.  

 

_Peeta’s counting on me.  I can do this.  I have to do this!_

 

“I’m okay!” I manage to choke out, reaching above my head with my left hand.  Chancing a glance up, I see I’m only two or three steps away from grabbing the ledge.

 

“I’m okay!” I repeat, this time a little louder.

 

“You’re almost there, Katniss.”  Jedrek’s deep voice sounds like it’s a hundred miles away.  “You got this, girl!  You got this!”

 

Another step.  The toenail on my big left toe gives way.  I scream in pain, but manage to hold steady.  Another step.  My right hand nearly slips free, leaving a smear of blood behind.  

 

“You’re there, Katniss!” my father cries.  “Look to your left, the ledge is right there!”

 

I’m shaking so violently now I’m afraid if I pause for too long, I’ll lose whatever grip I have left and plummet back down, with no strength in me to try again.

 

Summoning every reserve I have, I move to raise my left hand, and cry out as it brushes against the ledge.  My hand curls around it, sliding across until I’m able to flatten my palm over the surface.  I push down with my arm, leaning sideways to bring my body across its length.

 

I rest there for a few seconds, gulping in lungfuls of air, listening to the tentative cheers rising up from twenty feet below me.

 

“Katniss!” my father calls.  “Watch out for the Peacekeepers.  Keep out of sight.  I love you!”

 

Looking down, I manage a smile.  “I’ll be back for you,” I say.  “Very soon.”

 

“We’ll be fine, songbird,” Dad replies.  “You just make your way to Cinna’s shop, as swiftly as you can.”

 

I slowly poke my head over the lip of the hole, scouting for the Peacekeeper guards, finally spotting them about twenty feet from me, both with their backs turned.  Pulling myself out of the hole, I flatten my body against the cold, damp grass, allowing it to soothe my fingers and toes while I rub the cramps from my legs and gather my bearings.  The lights of the city are much brighter off to my right, which means the Training Center must be in that direction, and Cinna’s shop is about a two hour walk from there.  The trolleys would be much faster, but there’s no way I’d not draw attention to myself with my bare feet and battered hands.  I’ll have to make it on foot, and remain in the shadows as much as possible.

 

Setting my jaw, I push myself up onto my sore feet, groaning inwardly as my legs protest having to move again.  With a final glance at the two Peacekeepers, I head off in the opposite direction.

 

* * *

 

_“Gale!” Boggs says in a loud whisper as he shakes Gale’s shoulder.  “Wake up!”_

 

_“Huh?” Gale mumbles as he turns over on his sleeping pallet.  “What time is it? What’s going on?”_

 

_“Come with me,” Boggs says.  “There’s been some news.”_

 

_Yawning, Gale shoves his feet into his boots and runs his hands through his hair as he steps out of his tent, following Boggs over to the makeshift Command._

 

_Once inside, Boggs points to the holo screen, indicating a blinking red dot approximately ten miles from their current position, about three miles from the Capitol’s border.  “At around 2045 last night, the on-duty watch noticed that Katniss’s tracking signal was moving.  At first he thought it was a glitch, so he contacted Beetee in Thirteen for help, as per protocol.  Beetee confirmed that the signal had both increased in strength and was on the move, which seemed to indicate that Katniss had broken free of her prison.”_

 

_Gale’s eyes widen in surprise.  He’s definitely wide awake now.  “She broke out?”_

 

_“Yes,” Boggs replies, not without a hint of awe.  “From what Cinna has relayed, she managed to climb up a stone wall, avoid the Peacekeepers and any surveillance cameras, and make her way back to his shop.  Barefoot and weaponless.”_

 

_“Barefoot?” Gale exclaims.  “Damn!  Is she all right?”_

 

_Boggs nods.  “According to Cinna, her hands and feet are pretty banged up, and she was shivering badly from the cold.  But since he has access to plenty of hot water and Capitol medicines, he said she’ll be fine by tomorrow.”_

 

_Gale’s taken aback.  “Tomorrow?  Her feet must be torn to shreds, are you sure?”_

 

_Shrugging, Boggs shakes his head.  “I’m only repeating what Cinna told me, and he said she’ll be healed by tomorrow.”_

 

_“What about her dad?” Gale asks.  “And Peeta?”  He doesn’t bother to ask about his own father.  He’d given up hope of finding him alive a long time ago, after Haymitch told him his dad had been the soldier who’d targeted Peeta, resulting in the fire that destroyed both the bakery and half of the Seam.  From what Haymitch concluded, there didn't seem to be much hope that Antonius would keep Alder Hawthorne alive following such a botched retrieval._

 

_“Cinna said Katniss was quite frantic by the time she made it to his shop, so once he got her bandaged up, he ended up giving her something to help her sleep.  But, from what he’s told me, it seems as though Peeta is still being held in the Training Center.”  He pauses, shaking his head.  ”Katniss told Cinna that the person who captured her was Rye Mellark.  Peeta’s older brother.”_

 

_“Oh shit!” Gale exclaims.  “I thought he was dead! He’s been an Ellipses soldier all this time?”_

 

_“That appears to be the case,” Boggs says, narrowing his eyes at his subordinate.  “Something you wish to share, Gale?”_

 

_Gale tries to wipe the scowl from his face.  “Just… um… Rye Mellark and I go way back, sir.  He’s never been a favorite person of mine, and this doesn’t help that view at all.”_

 

_“Now's not the time for another personal vendetta, Soldier.  It’s very likely that Rye didn't even know what he was doing.  The Ellipses soldiers are controlled through the use of tracker jacker venom, which Beetee has said is murder on a person’s memory.“_

 

_“I’m fine, sir,” Gale insists.  “I’m only thinking of Katniss.  Rye and Peeta look a lot alike, which must’ve thrown her for quite a loop.”  He clears his throat.  “What about Mr. Everdeen?”_

 

_“Katniss believes he’s still down in the prison, along with two others.  But —and this is just a hunch— I’m guessing they will also be moved to the Training Center, once it’s discovered that Katniss has escaped.”_

 

_“For questioning,” Gale says, nodding.  “That makes sense.”_

 

_“Exactly,” Boggs agrees.  “So—”_

 

_“We need to move on the Training Center,” Gale states.  “Tomorrow night, once the dam is blown.  Sir.”_

 

_“That’s the tentative plan, Soldier Hawthorne,” Boggs says.  “But we first need to see if they’re able to blow the dam.  Everything hinges on that.”_

 

_“They’ll do it,” Gale says firmly.  “Thom’s my buddy, and he’s one of the best.  He’ll find a way to get it done.”_

 

_Boggs nods, setting his jaw.  “Then as long as everything goes according to plan, as soon as the power’s out we’ll cross into the Capitol.  We’ll convene for final preparations at Cinna’s shop, and then move on the Training Center.”_

 

_“We can take out Antonius!” Gale exclaims.  “We can end this thing right here!” Gale doesn’t add that he’d also love to have a chance at finding Peacekeeper Thread.  Give him a taste of his own medicine._

 

_“Stand down, Soldier,” Boggs says, holding up his hand.  “This will only be a retrieval mission.  We do not have the manpower to devote to finding Antonius at this time.  That will have to come later.”_

 

_“But—”_

 

_“That’s an order, Gale,” Boggs commands.  “Now, I suggest that we return to our tents and get some more sleep.  I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”_

 

_Gale sighs.  “Yes, sir.”_

 

* * *

 

_Carter paces back and forth on the upper level of the Control Room, shaking his head in dismay.  He’s already managed to sweat through one uniform shirt in the twenty minutes since he made the panicked phone call to Antonius’s office, and unless the Minister shows up soon, it's likely he’ll have to repeat the process._

 

_“Mr. Carter,” the booming voice of Minister Antonius fills the Control Room as he steps through the door, adjusting the black glove over his right hand.  “What is so urgent as to have to summon me here so early in the morning?”_

 

_“Um… “ Carter stammers, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket and mopping his brow.  “Ah, as per your orders, sir, I sent Mr. Felix to the pit this morning to retrieve the Mockingjay, and—“_

 

_“Yes, yes, man,” Antonius snaps.  “Get on with it!”_

 

_Carter gulps, his hands shaking.  “Well, sir… when Mr. Felix arrived, he was quite surprised, you see… ah… “_

 

_Antonius’s face pales, his thin lips pressing together so tightly they nearly disappear.  “Where is the Mockingjay, Mr. Carter?”_

 

_“We don't know, sir,” Carter blurts out.  “She’s escaped!”_

 

_The Minister’s eyes widen in shock.  “She… what?”_

 

_“She escaped, sir.  We have no idea how.  There have been a few attempts to escape from the pit prior to this, but none have been successful until now.”_

 

_“She is not actually a bird, correct?” Antonius sputters, his eyes nearly bulging, his gloved hands clenched into tight fists.  “I mean, she did not grow wings and fly out of the prison, did she?  She’s merely a girl, and from District Twelve of all places!  Mr. Carter, she should not be able to outsmart me!”_

 

_“No, sir!” Carter squeaks.  “I don't understand, I—“_

 

_“She’ll likely be injured,” Antonius interrupts, tapping his chin.  “Which means she’ll have taken refuge somewhere inside the city.”  He turns on Carter, pointing his finger in the Head Trainer’s face.  “Have the rest of the prisoners retrieved and brought here for questioning immediately, using whatever means necessary, and assign two trainers to monitor the facial recognition software nonstop until she is found.  We must get to the bottom of this before the rebels realize what has happened!  Do you understand, Mr. Carter?”_

 

_“Yes, sir,” Carter says, nodding rapidly.  “We will find her, sir.”_

 

_Antonius inhales deeply through his nose, and Carter can't help but notice the bulging vein running along his temple.  “See that you do, Mr. Carter.  I am growing tired of these failures, and I do not wish for you to follow the same path as Peacekeeper Thread.  Is that understood?”_

 

_Carter nods.  “Yes, sir.”  As he watches Antonius leave the room, he makes a mental note to hack into the Minister’s medical files once the prisoners’ questioning is completed.  There just might be something in there that could prove useful in the future._

 

* * *

 

I roll over on the soft bed, groaning as I open my eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the sun streaming in through the high window.  Judging from the position of the sun, I’m guessing it to be around mid-morning, which means the shop shouldn’t be open quite yet.  Cinna told Gale and me when we were here before that most of the wealthier Capitolites aren’t up and about before noon, and those are considered the early birds.

 

I’m just pushing myself up to a sitting position when there’s a knock on the door.

 

“Come in,” I say, my voice gravelly from sleep.

 

“Good morning,” Cinna says as he opens the door.  He sets a tray of food down on the bedside table and sits down on the edge of the bed.  “How are you feeling?”

 

I brush some hair out of my eyes with my bandaged hand, noticing for the first time that I’m dressed in the softest cotton pajamas I've ever felt.  They’re even soft orange, Peeta’s favorite color.  “Better, thank you.”

 

“Good,” he replies.  “Let’s see how those hands are this morning.”  He reaches for my right hand, unwinding the silky bandage that he applied over a thick layer of some pale pink ointment that smelled strongly of roses.  To my astonishment my hand is healed, with hardly any remaining trace of my struggle to climb out of the pit.

 

“How?” I ask, dumbfounded as he unwraps my left hand.  It too is healed.  In fact, even the smaller marks and scars that Effie’s soap had failed to erase are now vanished.

 

“You’ve seen how some of the people look around here,”  Cinna says as he looks over my hands.  “There’d be no way for them to have as many procedures and modifications as they do without a fast way to heal from all of it.”

 

Pressing my lips together, I unearth my left foot from the blankets and unwrap its bandage, gasping as I examine the new, smooth flesh and healed toes.  By the time I arrived here in the wee hours of the morning, both of my feet were in such horrible shape that I collapsed into Cinna’s arms as soon as he opened the door, unable to take another step.  He’d carried me to the bathroom, ran me a bath filled with lotions and potions designed for healing, and then slathered the rose-scented ointment all over my cuts and scrapes and bandaged me up.  The last thing I remember before waking up this morning was gulping down a glass of water.

 

“And just anyone in the Capitol has access to medicines like this?”

 

“If you know the right people, yes,” Cinna replies.  “Like I told Gale, not everyone in the Capitol is despicable.”  The corners of his lips quirk into a slight smile.  “The late President Snow loved roses, and he was quite fond of his frequent nips and tucks, as people call them.  That’s why the ointment carries that scent.”

 

Never having liked the smell of roses, I shudder as I unwrap my right foot.  All the injured people my mother’s treated over the years; the horrible burns and pickaxe injuries, the poison ivy I caught one time after I started hunting by myself, maybe even Peeta’s wounds from his encounter with the mutt in the woods.  All of them could’ve been healed with a single jar of this Capitol ointment, rose-smelling or not.

 

Nausea suddenly hits me like a shockwave, and I flop back against the pillows, turning onto my side.

 

“You should eat, Katniss,” Cinna says gently.  He picks up the breakfast tray, placing it over my lap.  “You need to regain your strength.  From what Boggs tells me, there’s going to be a lot happening in the next couple days.”

 

“You’ve spoken with Boggs?” I ask as I prop myself back up and reach for a roll.  

 

Cinna nods.  “Yes.  But I’ll explain it to you later, after you’ve eaten and rested some more.  All right?”

 

I break off a piece of the roll, dunking it into a cup of thick, dark brown liquid that Cinna called hot chocolate when Gale and I were here before.  “Did you put something in my water last night?” I ask after I’ve swallowed.  “I remember you getting me into the bath, and wrapping up my feet, but it’s all a bit fuzzy.”

 

“Yes, I did,” Cinna says.  “I gave you a dose of sleep syrup, which is the same thing you have in the districts, if I’m remembering correctly.  Don’t worry, it’s safe for the baby.”

 

I freeze mid-chew, my eyes widening in shock.  “What did you say?”

 

“The baby,” Cinna replies, smiling softly.  “You were quite frantic when you arrived here last night, but the one thing you kept repeating over and over as I treated you, was to make sure that any medicine I gave you was safe for the baby.”  

 

Tears well in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks.  “I said there was a baby?”

 

“Yes, you did,” Cinna says gently.  “Is it true?”

 

Instinctively, I bring my hand over my belly, swallowing against the lump in my throat.  “I don't know for sure, but I think so. I didn’t want to admit it could be possible, but then my sister brought it up before we left Thirteen, and—”

 

“It’s all right, Katniss,” Cinna murmurs, blotting at my tears with a handkerchief.  “It’s all right to be scared.”

 

“No, it’s not!” I choke out.  “This is the worst possible time for this to happen!  I don’t even know if Peeta’s still alive, and until I do, I can't afford to be scared!”

 

“But you don’t know that he’s not, either,” Cinna says.  He pats my cheek and stands to his feet. “Eat and rest.  Boggs told me that nothing will happen until after sundown tonight, so you have the rest of the day to recover.”

 

“Why?” I demand as I shove a spoonful of potatoes into my mouth.  “What’s happening after sundown?”

 

“I’m only here to help, remember?” Cinna reminds me.  “Boggs will explain everything once he and the rest of his group arrive.”

 

* * *

 

_Gale paces back and forth, keeping his eyes trained on the Capitol skyline in the distance.  The sun set at least two hours ago, and as far as he can tell, not a single light has even flickered in the Capitol, much less gone out._

 

_“C’mon, Thom, I know you can do this!” Gale mutters under his breath.  “I know you can!”_

 

_Since they were small children, Gale’s always been amazed at Thom’s sheer determination and grit.  From standing up for his friends against the self-righteous Townie boys in school and stepping up to take care of his family when his dad became too sick to work, to becoming one of the District 12 spies, Thom’s resilience and wit have always been things that Gale’s admired.  And, according to Paylor, Thom has planned and led attacks on the Peacekeepers in districts Seven, Ten, and now, Five._

 

_“C’mon, buddy, don't let us down!” Gale mumbles, kicking a twig out of the way as he turns around to retrace his steps.  Boggs had told him he needed to let go of his guilt for allowing Katniss to go off on her own, and even admitted that if he hadn’t, he likely would’ve been imprisoned as well, or even killed.  Ellipses never leaves any witnesses; Rue's death was evidence of that._

 

_The sudden absence of light causes him to halt in his tracks, and he looks up in surprise, watching as the Capitol goes dark, quadrant by quadrant._

 

_“Yes!” he cries out, pumping his fist into the air.  “He did it!” He lets out another victorious “woohoo” before turning on his heels and heading straight for the Command tent, where Boggs has been monitoring the attack from the holo._

 

_“Sir, did you—“ he starts, silenced by Boggs’ raised hand as he speaks with President Coin._

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” Boggs says.  “We have visual confirmation.  The Capitol has gone dark.”_

 

_“Then you have a go to enter, Commander,” comes Coin’s reply.  “Good luck.”_

 

_“When do we leave?” Gale asks breathlessly._

 

_Boggs squares his shoulders.  “It's time to gather the squad.  We leave for the border in two hours.”_

 

_Smiling, Gale nods.  Finally, the odds seem to be in their favor.  “Yes, sir!”_

 

* * *

 

“Catnip!” Gale cries as he crosses the length of Cinna’s shop with his long strides, enveloping me in a tight hug.  “I’m so glad you're okay!“

 

“I’m fine,” I say as he releases me.  “Cinna took good care of me.”

 

“Let’s head to the back, shall we?” Boggs says as he enters the shop, followed by three other people that I recognize from the District 1 camp.  “Even with the lights out, we shouldn’t take any chances.”

 

I ended up falling asleep almost as soon as I finished my breakfast, only waking when Cinna closed up the shop for the night and brought in supper.  As we were busy stuffing ourselves with lamb stew and fresh fruit, all the lights suddenly went out, cloaking the shop and the rest of the city in darkness.  Cinna assured me it was due to a rebel attack on the District 5 dam, and that it meant Boggs and Gale would be arriving soon.

 

“All right, listen up!” Boggs says, setting the holo down on Cinna’s sewing table.  He presses a button, bringing up a holographic map of the city and pointing to the Training Center.  “This is our target.  We will be entering through the back entrance, here.  Our intelligence tells us that there will be two guards stationed at that entrance.  They will be the responsibility of Soldiers Hawthorne and Mitchell.”

 

Both men purse their lips, nodding grimly.

 

“All right,” Boggs continues.  “From the information gathered by James Everdeen prior to his capture, we can expect to find the prisoners on the third floor.  Our weapons are loaded with tranquilizing darts in place of traditional bullets.  If we encounter any resistance along the way, and we should, considering that their forcefield is currently deactivated, our orders are to tranquilize only.  No shooting to kill.”

 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to protest when Gale raises his hand.  “Um, you don’t want us to take out any Peacekeepers that we encounter, sir?”

 

“No, Soldier Hawthorne, I do not,” Boggs says.  “As far as we are aware, the only personnel allowed access to the third floor are trainers and Ellipses soldiers.  By order of President Coin, it is expressly forbidden to kill any Ellipses soldier that we may encounter.  We are to consider them as acting under duress, and as such, we are under orders to take them as prisoners only.”

 

I clamp my lips closed, shutting my eyes at the conflicting emotions rippling through me.  It may not be ethical for me to want to kill Rye Mellark for what he’s done, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to possibly running into him again.  I can only hope that someone else takes him out, and keeps him out of Peeta’s sight.

 

“Yes, sir,” Gale replies.  I can tell he’s restraining his temper from the way the vein in his neck is twitching.  There’s no love lost between Gale Hawthorne and Rye Mellark.  They were in the same class at school, and stories about their frequent fistfights were still circulating around the school over a year after they graduated.

 

“Very well,” Boggs says.  “Once we’ve secured the prisoners, we’ll proceed to the roof of the building, where a hovercraft will be waiting to evacuate us back to Thirteen.”  He turns to me.  “Are you sure you're up for this?  I think we’d all understand if you wanted to sit this one out.”

 

“Yes,” I say firmly.  “When do we leave?”

 

“As soon as you're ready,” he replies, nodding at Cinna.

 

With Cinna’s help, ten minutes later I’m dressed in black from head to toe.  “Thank you,” I say as he ties off the end of my braid.  “For everything.”

 

Cinna pulls me into a hug.  “I’m still betting on you, Katniss.  Good luck, and be careful.”

 

Boggs hands me a rifle and a pair of night-vision glasses.  “All right, let's go.”

 

The streets are nearly deserted as we make our way to the Training Center, keeping close to the sides of buildings and off the main streets to avoid the Peacekeepers.  Boggs informed us that Antonius ordered all Capitol citizens to return to their homes once the power was cut.  But with no cameras or other means of electronic surveillance available, he's being forced to rely strictly on the Peacekeeper corps to enforce the curfew.  And thanks to the recent attacks in the districts, their numbers have been greatly diminished in recent weeks.  In fact, we only have to hide from four patrols during the two-hour walk to the Training Center.

 

Leading us around to the back entrance, Boggs attaches an electronic lock-picking device to the door.  We all hold our breaths as the device counts down, releasing them simultaneously when the door unlocks with a loud _click_.  Boggs steps back, motioning for Gale and Mitchell to enter and dispose of the Peacekeeper guards.  A few seconds later, the muffled sound of two bodies hitting the floor indicates that the coast is now clear.

 

“All right,” Boggs says in a loud whisper.  “The third floor is only accessible from the east wing of the building.  Let’s go.”

 

He motions for Gale to take the lead as we walk down the marble hallway, the soles of our boots making soft squishing noises with each step.  My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised that Jackson, the woman in front of me, can't hear it.

 

About two-thirds of the way down the wood-paneled hall, Gale stops short in front of one of the panels, feeling with his hand along the side.  “I think I've found a hidden door!” he says in a loud whisper.

 

“Good work, Gale,” Boggs says as he attaches the lock-picking device.  As soon as the door clicks open we pile inside and head up the stairs, with Boggs and Gale leading the way, holding their rifles at the ready as we arrive on the third floor.

 

The door at the top of the stairs opens directly into a hallway that ends in four barred cells, with a single Peacekeeper standing guard a few steps away from the door.  Before he can even reach for his weapon Boggs shoots him with a tranquilizer dart, and he drops to the floor like a sack of flour.  Gale drops to his knees, searching through the Peacekeeper’s pockets, letting out a triumphant cry as he pulls out a set of silver keys.

 

“C’mon!” Gale says in a loud whisper, glancing at me as he rushes down the hallway towards the cells.  Through my glasses, I can see the shadows of people in three of them.

 

“Daddy!” I cry as Gale unlocks the first heavy metal door.  I squeeze through as soon as he gets the door open, rushing over to my father who’s lying spread-eagle on the concrete floor.  “Daddy, we’re here to get you out!”

 

Groaning, my father opens his swollen eyes, black and blue from a recent beating.  There’s a fresh cut above one eyebrow as well.  He looks at me, blinking as he tries to focus.  “Katniss?”

 

“Yes, it’s me,” I whisper as Gale safeties his rifle and reaches for Dad, propping him up into a sitting position.  “Can you walk?  We need to get you to the hovercraft.”

 

“Yeah,” he replies, hissing in pain as he stands to his feet with Gale’s help.  In the cell next to us I can see Jackson helping an injured Jedrek to his feet, and Johanna is busy swatting and swearing at Mitchell, who made the mistake of trying to pick her up.  But there's no sign of Peeta.  The fourth cell is empty.

 

“Daddy, where’s Peeta?” I ask as Gale half drags my father towards the door.  “He’s not in any of these cells, do you know where else he could be?”

 

“The interrogation room is around that corner,” Dad says, gesturing weakly towards the end of the hall.  “They moved him there after the lights went out.  Hurry, Katniss!”

 

Dad hasn't even finished his sentence before I exit the cell, racing down the hallway with Boggs on my heels.  As we come upon the interrogation room I stop short, seeing myself reflected in the smooth surface of a large window, and I jump as Boggs’ hand lands on my shoulder.

 

“Be careful, Katniss,” he whispers, reaching for the doorknob with his other hand.  It opens easily.

 

Stepping into the room, my eyes widen as I take in the two long tables, both covered with various instruments of torture.  In the center of the room sits another table, bent in the middle and covered with padding, with four sets of leather straps dangling from each side.  

 

“Oh my God,” I gasp, swallowing hard against the nausea rising in my belly from the horrible smell, a combination of blood, sweat, and sharp disinfectant.  “What did they do to him?”

 

“Focus, Katniss,” Boggs warns from behind me.  “We’re running short on time.”

 

“Peeta,” I call in a quavery voice. I rip the night vision glasses from my face, not wanting to scare Peeta when we find him.  “Peeta?  Are you in here?”

 

There’s no answer, and fear clenches around my heart like a vise.  What if he doesn’t recognize me?  Doesn’t remember me?  “Peeta!” I call again.  “Where are you?”

 

A soft, almost inaudible moan sounds from somewhere in front of us, and I nearly faint in relief.  Boggs taps me on the shoulder, nodding as he raises his rifle and points in the direction of the sound.  I tiptoe towards the back of the room, the breath rushing out of my lungs in a fell swoop as I finally see him, huddled into a ball in the far corner.

 

“Peeta?” I whisper as I drop to my knees, sliding towards him.  He shivers at the sound, curling further into himself, his head cradled gingerly in his left hand.

 

“Peeta?” I repeat, carefully running my finger across his hand, which appears to be covered in dried blood.  He flinches at my touch, whimpering.  “Peeta?  It's me, it’s Katniss.  I’ve come to get you out!”

 

His hand freezes, and I watch through tear-filled eyes as three of his fingers take hold of his hair and yank, so hard he nearly pulls out the matted curls.  “Peeta!” I say as a tear rolls down my face.  I again trail my forefinger along his whitened knuckles, trying to calm him.  My arms are aching to wrap around him, to cradle him against my chest, but I’m terrified that I’d only hurt him more.  

 

“It’s okay, Peeta, it’s me.  It’s Katniss.  I came here to find you.”

 

Slowly, agonizingly, his fingers release his hair as he raises his head.  I stifle another gasp as his face comes into view.  His eyes are nearly swollen shut, and he’s covered in so many cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I can't make out a single inch of unblemished skin.  His lips are swollen, lined with teeth marks, and as pale as the moon.

 

“Katniss?” he whispers, reaching his trembling hand towards my face, my name sounding as if it’s being pulled painfully from his throat.  “Are you real?”

 

“I’m real,” I choke out as his palm lands clumsily on my cheek.  “I’m real, and I’m here to get you out of this horrible place.”

 

A loud burst of static from Boggs’ radio fills the nearly silent room, startling me and filling Peeta with terror.  He withdraws his hand, crying out as his eyes flick wildly around the room.

 

“It’s okay, Peeta,” I say, swiping the tears from my eyes.  “We’re here to help you.”

 

“Katniss, we need to move!” Boggs says.  “The hovercraft is waiting for us on the roof.”  He holds out a hand towards Peeta.  “Can you walk?”

 

Peeta glances at me, his eyes still full of fear as he shakes his head.  I nod, reaching for his hand.  “It’s okay, Peeta.  Boggs isn’t gonna hurt you.”

 

“I will carry him,” a grim voice says from the doorway.  I look up in surprise to see my father and Gale rushing into the room.  “Gale says there's more Peacekeepers on the way, and you're the only ones with weapons.”

 

“Are you sure?” I ask Dad as he crouches down next to Peeta.  My father’s always been strong; I’ve seen him carry an entire buck across his shoulders more than once.  But that was before he was beaten and starved and left to waste away in a prison for months.

 

“Yes,” he says firmly.  He looks at Peeta.  “Are you ready, son?”  With a final glance towards me, Peeta nods, allowing Dad to hoist him up to his feet.  Peeta cries out in pain as Dad drapes him over his shoulder, his eyes squeezed closed and his face covered in a thick layer of sweat.  I grab onto his left hand, trying to calm him as Boggs and Gale lead us out of the room and back down the hall.

 

“We need to get to the stairs!” Boggs hisses, motioning to Gale to take the lead as we’re joined by Jackson, Mitchell, Jedrek, Homes and Johanna.  

 

Prepping his rifle, Gale opens the door to the stairway, motioning us to stay put while he checks to make sure it’s clear.  I tap my foot impatiently for the few seconds Gale’s gone, running my thumb back and forth over Peeta’s knuckles.

 

Gale pokes his head back into the hallway.  “All right, let’s move.”

 

“We’re almost there, Peeta,” I say, bracing my palm against my father’s back as he climbs up the metal stairs in front of me.  “We’re almost out of here.”

 

“Katniss!” Peeta cries as we round the final corner, the sound of gunfire coming from a level below spurring us on.  Opening the hatch that leads to the roof, I’m relieved when we’re hit by the blast of cold air that indicates we’ve made it outside.

 

As the ramp to the hovercraft lowers, Gale moves to take Peeta from my father, whose strength is failing rapidly after the climb up the steps.  We clamber onto the hovercraft, where Homes directs Gale to lay Peeta down on a blanket spread along the floor as he opens his medkit.

 

“Where’s Boggs?” Gale yells over the roar of the hovercraft’s engines.  

 

“He was behind us!” I reply, dropping to my knees next to Peeta, wincing as Homes injects him with a small dose of morphling.  “Please, be careful with him!”

 

“This is just enough to take the edge off his pain but still allow him to remain conscious,” Homes says.  He pulls bandages and antiseptic from his kit and starts to blot at a wound on Peeta’s cheek.  “They’ll need to evaluate him for a possible concussive head injury when we get back.”

 

Taking Peeta’s left hand between my own, I choke back a sob as I look him over.  In the harsh light of the hovercraft he looks even worse than he did back in the Training Center.  Every bare patch of skin that’s not hidden under his paper-thin clothing is covered in bruises, and his right hand is grotesquely swollen, with the index, middle, and ring fingers bent at odd angles.  I think I even see a tip of the white bone poking through on his index finger.  No wonder he was cradling this arm close to him the whole time.  Growing up with a healer for a mother, I’ve seen horrible hand injuries plenty of times, and they never turn out well.  Something about the complexity of the hand, with its millions of nerve endings and multiple sets of small bones that must work together in order to function.  Even a seemingly minor injury can have devastating consequences, and if Peeta’s not ever able to draw or paint again…

 

Tears burn my eyes, and I press my lips together to keep them from quivering.  I can’t afford to think like that right now.  I need to be strong for Peeta.

 

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Boggs hollers as he enters the hovercraft.  The ramp is still closing as we take off, and I look up as Boggs collapses onto the floor, under the weight of an unconscious Rye Mellark.

 

“What’s he doing here?” I demand, moving instinctively closer to Peeta.  “Why would you bring him here, when he nearly killed Peeta?”

 

“Katniss—” my father starts.

 

“Our orders were to detain any Ellipses soldiers that we encountered,” Boggs states, propping Rye up on a chair.  He shackles his wrists to one of the chair supports.  “For intelligence purposes.”

 

“But—”

 

“Need I remind you that he was acting under duress, Katniss?” Boggs says firmly, glaring at me.

 

Opening my mouth to retort, I feel a gentle tug on my hand instead.  I look down at Peeta, his blue eyes glassy with tears and morphling.  “Katniss,” he whispers.  “You came back for me.”

 

The tears I’ve been holding back finally break free, rolling down my face as I bring his left hand to my lips.  “Of course I did!  I couldn’t leave you, Peeta.  I love you.”

 

“It was dangerous,” he mumbles.  “You could’ve been killed.”

 

I press another kiss to his knuckles, shaking my head.  “We protect each other.  Remember?”

 

“Yes,” Peeta whispers.  ”I do remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Katniss and Peeta are finally reunited! It was chapter ten when they were ripped apart, so this chapter has been a while in coming. Maybe we can breathe a small sigh of relief now? The story isn't over yet, but at least they're together again! :)
> 
> I can't wait to see what you guys think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos! I'm so thankful for each and every one!
> 
> Thank you as well to my beta DandelionSunset. Be sure to check out her stories, she's an incredible author! :)
> 
> This chapter contains descriptions of some pretty severe injuries, as well as some medical jargon. Since I have a medical background, these descriptions are not overly graphic to my eyes, but in case people are sensitive, I wanted to warn you. :)

I’m pacing back and forth in a small anteroom in Thirteen’s hospital, my heart pounding in rhythm with the _thump, thump, thump_ of the claustrophobic tube machine as it tries to determine just how badly Peeta is injured.  Prim, who was waiting in the hanger for our hovercraft when we landed, assured me that the machine is completely harmless, and I know she wouldn’t lie to me, but I still don’t like having to be separated from him again so soon after finding him.  Especially after what happened when we arrived here.

 

I look up with a start as Haymitch walks in, scowling as he takes a chair near the large window that looks into the tube room.  “What do you want?”

 

“Don't you take that tone with me, Sweetheart,” Haymitch replies.  “I tried to get Coin to radio your hovercraft, warning you about the camera crew, but she wouldn’t do it because Plutarch said your reactions would be better if you didn’t know they were there.”

 

“The last thing Peeta needed right then was a camera in his face!” I snap.  “They should've waited!”

 

“Peeta didn’t even hardly notice them,” Haymitch says, just as hotly.  “He was too busy looking at you!”

 

I press my palm to my mouth, willing myself to try and calm down.  “Still.  They should’ve waited.”

 

Haymitch shrugs.  “Yeah, well, what’s done is done.  Not much we can do about it now.  From what Plutarch says, they got what they needed, so it’s all done for now.”

 

“Hmph.”  I return to my pacing, timing my steps with the beat of the machine.  Peeta’s been in there for over two hours already.

 

“Is my dad okay?” I ask after a few minutes.  My mother launched herself into my father’s arms as soon as he stepped off the hovercraft, nearly knocking him over, and I could tell Prim was torn between wanting to stay with him and wanting to help with Peeta.  After I assured her that there was nothing she could do for Peeta for the time being, she relented, hurrying off to join our mother.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Haymitch answers.  “Got a couple of broken ribs and a bunch of bruises.  Said they’re nothing he hasn’t had before.”

 

I turn to Haymitch in surprise.  “Broken ribs?  How’d he manage to carry Peeta out of the Training Center with broken ribs?”

 

Shrugging, Haymitch leans forward, his elbows on his knees.  “People have been known to do some mad things when they need to.”  His grey eyes narrow under his shock of dark hair.  “Things like climbing up a stone tube on their fingernails.”

 

My eyes are drawn instinctively to my hands, and the freshly regrown nails.  “I’m really not in the mood for a lecture, Haymitch.”

 

“I’m not here to give you one,” he grumbles, sitting back in his chair.  “But I’m not gonna guarantee that you won’t get one or two after everything settles down a bit.”  He holds up his hands as I scowl, glancing through the window.  “How’s the boy?”

 

“I don’t know yet,” I say in a quavering voice.  “They took one look at him when we got here and rushed him straight into the machine.”  A sneaky tear winds its way down my cheek, remembering the look of panic on Peeta’s face when the doctors explained what they were going to do.  “They had to sedate him first, so he’d stay still. He didn’t want to let go of my hand.”

 

Haymitch nods, pressing his lips together before leaning his head back against the wall.  He closes his eyes as I resume my pacing.

 

“And, how’re you doing?” he asks after a short pause.

 

“I’m fine,” I say.  “Cinna healed my hands and feet after I climbed out of the prison.”  I look down again at my new fingernails, fighting the urge to gnaw on them.  “I wish we had some of that medicine here, to use for Peeta.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says softly.  His grey eyes flick to the tube room.  “Does he know yet?”

 

My lower lip starts to quiver as I shake my head, pressing my palm against my abdomen.  “How do you know?  Did Cinna say something to you?”

 

“No.  Prim told me her suspicions, after you were captured.”

 

“I don’t know for sure yet,” I stammer.  “It might be nothing.”

 

“Not likely, if you were so worried about it that you brought it up with Cinna,” Haymitch says.  I scowl, thinking as much as I hate to admit it, he does have a point.

 

The thumping noise ceases, saving me from having to answer as we both turn to the window, watching as Peeta emerges feet first from the tube.  I clasp my hands together, bouncing on my toes in anticipation as the white-haired doctor gives instructions to two nurses before heading towards the anteroom.

 

“How’s Peeta?” I say as soon as he enters the room.

 

The doctor tilts his head, regarding me with a slight smile.  “Dr. Mullins,” he says, holding out his hand.  His ruddy cheeks are littered with pockmarks.  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Everdeen.”

 

“Hello,” I say dully.  “Please, tell me about Peeta!”

 

The doctor sighs, removing the half-moon glasses from the end of his long nose and placing them in the pocket of his starched white coat.  “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, Miss Everdeen.  Perhaps we should wait until—“

 

“No!” I cry, shaking my head.  “There's no way I can rest until I know if he’ll be okay.”

 

“Just start at the beginning, eh doc?” Haymitch says.  His hand rests on my shoulder.  “She can handle it.”

 

“Very well,” Dr. Mullins says.  “If you insist.”  He draws in a deep breath, eyeing me warily.  “Most of Mr. Mellark’s facial wounds are the result of beating with fists.  His nose was broken at some point, but appears to have been set, as it’s healing nicely.  There is a small hairline fracture of his left cheekbone that should heal fine without intervention.  We've already stitched up two deeper cuts on his temple and jaw, and we found no evidence of any other internal head injury during his examination.  The visual bruising should heal fine without incident.”

 

“That’s good,” I mumble.

 

“Yes.  Now, moving on.  Mr. Mellark’s back is criss-crossed with various wounds, likely from being flogged.  Some of these wounds are newer and quite deep, while others are in various stages of healing.  This tells me that someone at least partially treated them at some point during his imprisonment.”

 

“Probably so they could flog him again,” Haymitch says angrily.  “Those sick bastards.”  His fingers tighten on my shoulder as I choke back a sob.

 

“Yes, that theory would align with his injuries,” Dr. Mullins agrees.  He shakes his head.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.  We have him on a special air bed that will help keep pressure off the wounds as they heal.”

 

“What about his hand?” I ask.  “Will you be able to fix his hand?  He loves to draw and paint, and—“

 

“His hand is badly broken, Miss Everdeen,” Dr. Mullins says.  “It will require surgery, but we won't be able to perform the surgery until the swelling decreases, likely in a couple of days.  I won't be able to give you a definitive answer on how much use he’ll regain until after he heals from the surgery.  Once the bones heal, we will of course start him on physical therapy as soon as possible.”

 

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out how devastated Peeta would be if he could never draw again.  “Okay,” I choke out, swiping at the tears clouding my vision.  “And his leg?  He had a bad wound on his left leg when we found him outside of Twelve several months ago.  We think he was attacked by a mutt.”

 

Dr. Mullins raises his eyebrows.  “Ah yes, that helps to explain things.  I was curious as to how the infection could be so deep.  It didn’t make sense with the size of the wound itself.”

 

Another tear rolls down my cheek.  “But you can treat the infection, right?  You have medicines for infections like this, don't you?”

 

But the doctor only shakes his head.  “Unfortunately, this isn’t the Capitol, Miss Everdeen,” he says.  “While our medicines and technology are quite advanced for a rather isolated society, they still cannot compare with the medical advancements in the Capitol.”

 

My knees start to shake, and Haymitch grabs onto my other shoulder, practically holding me up.  “So, what are you saying?”

 

Dr. Mullins pinches the bridge of his nose.  “We will have to operate on his leg, to try and remove as much of the infection as possible.  If we’re successfully able to remove the infection pocket, to prevent the wound from constantly re-seeding the infection, then he’ll likely be able to keep his leg.  But if we're not, then I’m afraid we’ll have to amputate it at that point.  I’m very sorry, but it’s the only way to keep the infection from spreading further.  If left unchecked, this type of infection would continue to spread to the point of killing him.”

 

The sob I’ve been holding back finally forces its way from my throat as I fall against Haymitch, burying my face into his chest.

 

“When will you know for sure?” Haymitch asks, wrapping his arms around me.

 

“Within a couple of days,” the doctor replies.  “We’ll keep him on the antibiotics and monitor him closely, but I have to tell you, I’m not optimistic.  I’ve never seen such an aggressive wound like this before.”

 

 _That’s because none of you people ever go outside_ , I say bitterly in my head, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to speak out loud.  I raise my head to look at the doctor.  “Do whatever it takes to keep him alive.”  

 

“We’re not in the practice of not taking care of our patients, Miss Everdeen,” he says in a stern voice.  “I haven’t lost a patient since the pox epidemic, and I don’t intend to break that streak now.”

 

“Thanks, Doctor,” Haymitch says.  “When can she see him?”

 

“He should be waking up in a few minutes,” he replies, waving his hand towards the hallway.  “He’s on an infusion of morphling so he might not be completely coherent, but you can see him.”

 

“Thank you,” I whisper, nodding as the doctor disappears back into the tube room.  

 

Haymitch tugs on my shoulder.  “C’mon, Sweetheart.  You should be there when he wakes up.”

 

I walk down the hallway on numb legs, stepping into the doorway of Peeta’s room just as the nurse finishes attaching the last of his IV tubes.  Against the stark white of the hospital bedding the bruises on his face look even worse, the dark purples and blues mixing in with that sickening yellowish color as they start to fade.  His right hand and arm, wrapped in a thick, protective splint, is suspended from a pulley system attached to the head of his bed.

 

“You can come in,” the nurse says kindly.  “He’s not completely awake yet, but he's been asking for you.”

 

Haymitch pats my shoulder encouragingly as I take a tentative step into the room, the smell of antiseptic promptly assaulting my nose.  I swallow hard against the wave of nausea rippling through me, glancing around for the trash can just in case.

 

“Can I touch him?” I ask the nurse.

 

“As long as you're careful,” she says as she pulls a chair over to Peeta’s left side.  “Just stay away from his injured leg and hand, and don't pull on any of the tubes.”

 

“Thank you,” I whisper, sinking down onto the chair.  There's an IV tube running into the right side of his neck and another in the crook of his right arm, so I run my fingers carefully across his left shoulder, over his hospital gown.  “I’m here, Peeta.”

 

He turns his head towards me as his eyes blink open, bright blue amidst the bruising and swelling.  “Hey, beautiful,” he mumbles.

 

His sweet words immediately reduce me to tears.  I haven’t even had time for a shower since we've been back, and I know my hair is a mess.

 

“I'll be back in a few minutes,” the nurse says, handing me a tissue.  “If you need anything, press that red button on the wall.”

 

“I'll see you later too, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says quietly.  “I’ll go see how James and the others are doing.”

 

“Thank you, Haymitch,” I say as he leaves the room, my eyes not straying from my husband’s face.  I reach over and brush a stray curl from his forehead.  “Are you in a lot of pain?”

 

“Yeah,” he says.  “But seeing you helps.”

 

“Peeta, I’m so sorry!  I’m so sorry for everything!  I should’ve—“

 

“Stop,” he rasps, straining to keep his swollen eyes open against the pull of the painkillers flowing into his bloodstream.  “Please don't do that.  I don't know what I would’ve done if you'd been taken to the Capitol.”

 

“But still!” I sputter.  “I tried to get them to get to you sooner, and I’m sorry I—”

 

“Katniss,” he whispers, interrupting me.  “What’s going to happen to my brother?”

 

I clamp my lips shut to avoid saying exactly what I think of Rye Mellark.  “I don't know.  Prim told me he’s in a room down the hall, under a round-the-clock guard.  They say he's still pumped full of tracker jacker venom, and they won’t know how to treat him until the venom levels decrease and they see what he can remember.”  I leave out the part about how he’s strapped down and sedated because he tried to strangle one of his nurses.

 

“He didn't know what he was doing, Katniss,” Peeta says.  “You have to tell them that.  Please tell them!”

 

“Peeta, please!” I cry.  “Don’t worry about him right now.  Just concentrate on getting better.  Okay?”

 

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes closed as the monitors in the room start to beep.  “I need you to promise me that you’ll tell them.  He couldn’t help it, Katniss.  He couldn’t help any of it.  Promise me you’ll tell them!”

 

“Okay, I'll tell them,” I say frantically.  “I promise.  Please Peeta, try and calm down!”

 

He inhales a deep breath, nodding slightly.  “Thank you, love.  Thank you.”  To my relief, the monitors cease their beeping as he opens his eyes again.  “Rye didn't have someone he loved to help keep him grounded.  It wasn’t his fault, Katniss.”

 

I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of the horrible image of Rye butting Peeta in the back of his head with his rifle, and throwing me down into the pit.  I reach for Peeta’s hand under the blankets, bringing it carefully to my lips.  “Okay.”

 

“I would think of you,” he whispers.  “Of our time in the cave.  How beautiful you looked in the light of the fire.  The feel of you in my arms, the smell of your hair, and the taste of your skin.”  His pale, swollen lips stretch into a slight smile.  “I knew if I could remember those things, they wouldn’t be able to break me.  You were my anchor, Katniss.  You kept me from drifting away.”

 

Another tear winds its way down my cheek, and I press Peeta’s knuckles to my lips.  “I couldn’t sleep,” I whisper.  “I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing you being taken from me.  I missed you so much.”

 

His fingers tighten around my own.  “I’m here, Katniss.  You saved me.”

 

“No,” I murmur into his hand.  “We saved each other.”

 

His thumb ghosts over my cheekbone.  “Can I hold you?  Please?”

 

“I want that,” I say.  “So much.  But I’m afraid to hurt you more.”

 

“You won't,” he insists.  His hand leaves my cheek and curls around the back of my neck.  “Please?”

 

I glance over at the door, half expecting the nurse to come rushing back into the room to chastise us for even considering this.  But when she doesn’t appear, I untie my shoes and slide them off while Peeta raises his arm.  Very carefully, I crawl up onto his hospital bed, being mindful of his bad leg as his arm wraps around me and pulls me close.

 

All the fear I've been carrying these past weeks, of whether he was still alive, if he would remember me, if he would remember _us_ , dissipates as soon as my head touches his broad chest.  His good arm holds me steady and strong, his hand settling on the curve of my hip, his heartbeat beneath my ear.  I inhale deeply; there's still no traces of cinnamon on his skin, but the underlying, inherent scent of _Peeta_ is there, hiding underneath all the bandages and antiseptic.  

 

He's finally _here._  Battered and bruised and broken, but he's _here_ , with me, where he belongs _._ And I’m never letting him go again.

 

* * *

 

_Carter adjusts the collar of his crimson uniform jacket as he swipes his identification badge in front of the panel next to the Control Room, unlocking the door.  He grimaces as he steps inside, noting that only about a third of the computer terminals are up and running.  With the power outage still ongoing and the limited supply of fuel for the generators, it's all they could spare for the moment.  Carter knows he should be happy that they have any electricity at all, considering the rest of the city is still without, but he needs all the power he can get to work through his current query._

 

_Nodding at Felix, Carter sits down at his terminal on the upper level, typing in his username and password.  He forgoes his usual procedure of checking the cameras in the detention area; there's no need to check on detainees that are no longer detained.  Minister Antonius made sure of that.  He still can't believe that the Minister allowed the rescue of the detainees so casually.  While Carter hadn’t been looking forward to personally questioning the Mockingjay, he had been anticipating the celebratory broadcast to the country upon her breaking, along with her renegade Star-Crossed Lover.  Perhaps they would have even been executed together, like the real Romeo and Juliet.  And now, thanks to the Minister’s blundering, the Capitol will likely never have another opportunity to get its hands on them._

 

_Blood rushes to his cheeks at the treasonous thought, and he peeks over the top of his monitor, as if to assure himself that no one could hear him thinking.  Finding nothing to be concerned of, he taps a few more keys, pulling up the medical database where the records of all the Training Center employees are kept._

 

_For all of the Minister’s concern about the security of Panem, deciphering the password into his file is almost embarrassingly easy.  The birth month and day of his son combined with the number of soldiers in the Ellipses program and Carter is in, looking over medical records dating back to when Antonius was a mere cadet in the security force._

 

_Carter leans in, tapping his lips with his forefinger as he scrolls through the records.  A few minor injuries during his schooling, a couple of STDs that were promptly treated, a facelift three years ago…_

 

_“Ah, gotcha,” Carter whispers as he comes across the transcript of Antonius’s most recent visit to his personal physician.  With another quick peek over the top of his monitor, he leans in to read the lengthy document._

 

_“...Patient is a well-nourished adult male.  Age 54 years, height 5’10”, weight 183 lbs.  Heart rate 80 bpm, blood pressure 180/110 at initiation of visit, 185/105 at end of visit.  Patient recommended for blood vessel cleansing and repair to reduce risk of impending stroke or coronary event.  Patient declines at this time, citing excess of work, insists on increased doses of medications.  Patient advised medications already at maximum doses, but doses increased when MD’s life is threatened. Medication doses now at 150% of maximum.  Patient advised of risks associated with excessive dosing and again recommended for blood vessel cleansing.  Patient again declines, and visit is concluded…”_

 

_“Hmm… “ Carter mumbles.  He is certainly no medical expert, but judging from this report, it would appear that the Minister’s health is far more precarious than he wants to believe.  For all of the medical advances and technologies available in the Capitol, hypertension is still considered to be a silent killer.  In fact, Carter’s own father died of a sudden-onset stroke when he was sixty-three years old, after attending a particularly rowdy live screening of Caesar Flickerman’s television show._

 

_A slow grin spreads over Carter’s lips as he closes out the medical program with two taps of his finger and leans back in his chair.  While he’s not quite sure yet what he’s planning to do with this information, he's fairly certain that it will come in handy at some point._

 

_It's only a question of when._

 

* * *

 

I’m sitting in the newly appointed Command room, which, at least to my eyes, looks exactly the same as the old Command room that was destroyed during the recent bombing attack.  Haymitch, Prim, Boggs, Gale, Beetee, and Plutarch are all here, along with President Coin.  My father would be here too, but after his stay in the hospital he was called into someone’s office for debriefing along with Johanna and Jedrek, and I’ve only seen him a couple of times since then.

 

My eyes flick up to the ticking clock on the wall as I fight the urge to tap my fingertips on the table.  Peeta’s surgery for his hand and leg began almost an hour ago, and is expected to take most of the afternoon.  My mom volunteered to assist in the surgery, and Dr. Mullins assured us before he went back that the hand specialist in Thirteen was one of the best, but I can't help but be anxious for him.  I know if he had a choice, he would choose losing his leg over losing the use of his dominant hand.

 

“So,” Coin says, pulling me reluctantly back to the discussion at hand.  “What is the latest news on Mr. Mellark?”

 

A veil of silence drops over the room, broken only by the scrape of a chair and the tapping of Coin’s pencil.  She’s referring to Rye, not Peeta.  “Anyone?”

 

Beetee coughs into his hand, sitting up straighter in his chair as he pushes his glasses up his nose.  “Plutarch and I were able to break into the Capitol’s secured database just this morning,” he says.  “Even with their power still mostly out, their security systems have been difficult to hack into.  I’m actually quite impressed with whoever designed their firewall.”

 

“Mr. Latier,” Coin says in a low voice.  “Please continue.”

 

Beetee drops his eyes to the table.  “Yes, ma’am.  The process is called hijacking, named as such since it uses venom obtained from tracker jackers.  In essence, the trainers use the venom to hijack the subject’s innate personality, and over time, replace it with one who can easily be controlled, with little to no memory left intact from the original personality.  Essentially, the people are turned into mindless human robots.”

 

“Mutts,” I blurt out.  My stomach does a flip and I swallow hard, trying to keep myself from vomiting all over the table.  “It’s like they turn them into human mutts.”

 

“Well, yes,” Beetee says.  He glances at Plutarch, who has the decency to drop his gaze.  “That would be one analogy.”

 

“And this is why the soldiers have no memory of their former targets,” Plutarch says from his seat next to Coin.  “Each time they’re used, their memories from any previous targets are wiped and the new target is programmed.  Then, as soon as the target is acquired, they’re returned to the Training Center.”

 

“Where you would wipe their memories and program them again,” Gale snaps.  He sits forward, his steely grey eyes glaring daggers at Plutarch.  “Without a single thought to the actual person you are torturing.”

 

Plutarch raises his hands.  “Please understand, Mr. Hawthorne.  I was only a low-level trainer when your father was brought in—”

 

“And yet you stood by, for however many years, and just allowed this to happen!” Gale says, slamming his fist onto the tabletop.  “How many people were captured or killed on your watch, eh Plutarch?  How well do you sleep at night, knowing how many lives were ruined because of you!”

 

“That’s enough, Gale!” Boggs commands.  “Like it or not, Plutarch Heavensbee risked his life to defect here, and you are to treat him with respect.  Is that clear?”

 

Gale presses his lips together, scowling.  “Yes, sir,” he says through clenched teeth.  “Perfectly clear.”

 

“Okay, so how do we reverse it?” Prim pipes up from her seat to my left.  I turn to her with wide eyes.  “I mean, there has to be a way, right?  Peeta was able to fight against the conditioning, so it’s not completely foolproof.”

 

“Um… to be honest, we have no idea if it’s reversible,” Plutarch says.  “Soldier Eight—, I mean, Peeta, was an anomaly, and one we didn't realize until after he failed to acquire his target.”  His eyes flick to me.  “He’s a very convincing liar, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

 

My hands clench into fists under the table, and I feel Haymitch’s hand slide over to cover my knee.  “Not now, Katniss,” he whispers.  “It won’t help.”

 

“But Peeta couldn't remember anything after we found him in the woods,” Gale says.  “If he was able to fight against the training, to the point of being deployed and trying to warn Katniss instead of capturing her, why did he lose his memory?”

 

“Because he was stung?” Prim asks, turning to Beetee.  “He had at least four tracker jacker stings when he was brought to our house, would that do it?”

 

Beetee nods.  “Yes, that makes sense.  The Ellipses soldiers were given their venom in regular, controlled doses.  A sudden dump of wild venom, like with multiple jacker stings, could potentially cause a memory loss like that.”

 

“So, how do we reverse it in Rye?” Prim asks again.  “I mean, we’re going to try, aren’t we?  It wouldn’t be right to just lock him up in a padded room and leave him to suffer.”

 

“Of course we’ll try, Prim,” Beetee says.  “It’s just, we don’t know to what degree we’ll succeed.  If any.”

 

“Peeta wants us to try,” I blurt out.  I glance over at Haymitch, and he gives a slight nod.  “Rye is Peeta’s only living family, and… he wants us to try and help him.”

 

“Very well,” Coin says.  “I’ll expect a tentative plan by tomorrow.  From what I understand, the venom is slowly working its way out of Mr. Mellark’s system, so anything we try should begin as soon as possible.”  And she taps her pencil eraser on the table, effectively ending the discussion.

 

“Now then, Commander,” she says, looking at Boggs.  “What is the latest plan for the Nut?”

 

Since I could really care less about the plans to attack the fortified mountain in District 2, I tune out of the conversation, focusing on the clock instead.  Peeta’s been in surgery for over two hours now, and there’s at least another four to go.

 

_Tick tock._

 

It’s another hour later before we’re finally dismissed.  Prim grabs my arm as soon as we exit into the hallway.

 

“Come with me,” she says.  “We’re gonna go to the office while we wait for Peeta.”

 

“Why?” I ask, having no choice but to follow her.  When did my little sister get to be so strong?

 

“Because if we don’t do something to distract you, you’ll just pace around in the waiting room until you throw up, and that’s not good for the baby.”

 

“Prim,” I say, huffing for breath as we arrive at the elevator.  “I still don’t know for sure that there is a baby.”

 

She turns to me, raising her right eyebrow as she punches the button.  “C’mon Katniss.  Even you have to admit that all the signs are there.”

 

My hands go instinctively to my abdomen.  “Yeah. I guess.”

 

“And don’t you think Peeta will be happy?  Especially after everything he’s been through?”

 

“Well… yeah… but—”

 

The elevator doors slide open on the hospital level and Prim takes my arm, leading me towards the office she shares with our mother.  “Then, let’s have some good news for him when he wakes up from his surgery.  Now, get up on that examining table and pull up your shirt.”

 

“Oh-kay,” I mumble as Prim drags a machine over to the side of the table.  After instructing me to lie back, she squeezes some sort of ice-cold gel onto my stomach and flips on the machine.

 

“This is an ultrasound,” she explains as she places something that looks like a wand into the gel on my belly and starts moving it around.  “It’ll give us a picture of the baby… as soon as I can find her… ”  She pauses as a huge smile spreads across her face.  “Look, Katniss!  There’s your baby!  Oh, she’s beautiful!”

 

My head whips towards the machine, where the undeniable image of a perfectly formed baby has appeared on the screen.  “Oh!” I whisper in awe.  “You can tell she’s a girl?  Already?”

 

“Pretty sure,” Prim replies, moving the wand back and forth across my belly as she taps on the keyboard.  “I’m taking measurements, and it looks like you’re… yep. You’re right around ten weeks.”  She squints at the screen, fiddling with the wand.  “Heartbeat is good.  And… yep. It’s definitely a girl.  See?  There she is, she’s moving around.”  Prim points to the screen, and I watch as the baby wiggles her tiny arms and legs, almost as if she’s saying hello.

 

My baby.  Our baby.

 

Despite the almost overwhelming fear rising up in me, I try to smile.  Peeta will be ecstatic with this news.  “Thank you, Prim.”

 

The smile drops from her face as she removes the wand from my belly and starts wiping up the gel.  “You’re not happy?”

 

“I am!” I say, trying to sound like it.  “I am… it’s just… not really that great of timing.”

 

“I disagree,” Prim states, helping me sit back up.  “I think it’s perfect timing.  With everything else that’s going on around here, it’s nice to have something good happen every once in a while.”

 

“We found Dad,” I remind her.  “That was a good thing.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” she replies.  She reaches down to the bottom of the ultrasound machine and pulls out a small photograph, handing it to me.  “Actually, I’ve been sleeping down here ever since he was released from the hospital.  To give him and Mom some privacy.”

 

“Sleep in my room,” I say quietly as I stare at the picture of my daughter.  Our daughter.  Mine and Peeta’s.  My left hand splays across my belly.  I have never felt so protective of someone in my life.  “I’ve been sleeping in Peeta’s hospital room, so there’s no reason why you can’t take my room.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Prim says, a soft smile on her face as she watches me stare at the picture.  “Don’t you feel better now, knowing the truth?”

 

“Yeah,” I murmur.  I reach to pull her into a hug.  “Thank you, Prim.”

 

She smiles as she releases me.  “You’re welcome.  Now, I have some vitamins I want you to start taking every day, and I’ll let the kitchen staff know that your meal portions should be increased.”  She tilts her head, looking at me with a critical eye.  “You’re still pretty thin, Katniss.  How bad has your nausea been lately?”

 

“Better, now that Peeta’s here,” I say.  “It’s mainly bad in the morning and right before mealtimes.”

 

“Hmm… “ she says, rummaging through her perfectly arranged desk.  She pulls a card from a small box and hands it to me. “This will let the cafeteria staff know that you have permission to bring food out of the cafeteria.  I’d like you to start eating at least every two to three hours.  That should help with your nausea.”

 

“Okay,” I mumble, overwhelmed with all of this information, and the fact that my little sister, who’ve I’ve always looked after and tried to protect, is now taking care of me.  She really has grown up, and she’s still only fourteen.

 

Prim looks up at the clock.  “It’s almost time for lunch now.  Let’s head to the cafeteria so I can talk to them, and then we can eat.  Peeta should be almost out of surgery by the time we’re done.”

 

I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m nowhere near hungry right now, so I nod and allow her to lead me down to the cafeteria.  After she speaks with the lead staff member, while I watch the clock, I’m given a serving of the stew of the day that’s almost twice the size that I’m used to.  The scoop of green beans is larger too, and there’s two pieces of the dark, dry bread instead of the usual one.

 

“Eating for two?” I say as we take our trays to an empty table.  “I thought that was a myth.”

 

“Not in your case,” Prim retorts.  “Now, eat up.”

 

Finally, I allow myself a small grin.  “Yes, Doctor.”

 

* * *

 

Prim walks me back down to the surgery waiting room after lunch, then excuses herself, saying she has some patients to see this afternoon.  As soon as she leaves the feeling of dread I’ve been trying to stamp down returns, and I spend the next ninety minutes alternately staring at the clock and the picture of our daughter.  I’m so lost in my anxiety that I barely notice when my father comes in, taking the chair next to me.

 

“Katniss?” he says.  His glance is drawn to the ultrasound picture clutched in my hand.  “Hmm. You have some news for me?”

 

Heat floods my cheeks and I look away, unable to meet his eyes.  I told him while we were down in the pit that Peeta and I toasted before he was captured, but here, in the relative normalness of District 13, I suddenly feel like a teenage girl who’s been caught with a boy behind the slag heap.

 

“Um… “ I mumble.  “Peeta and I… we’re… “

 

Dad reaches for my hand holding the picture, his eyes narrowing as he studies the grainy image.  “Well, from the looks of it, I’d say you two are having a baby.”

 

I swipe at my eyes, blurred with tears.  “Yeah. Um… yeah.  We are.  A baby girl.”

 

His lips twitch, like he’s trying to hold back a smile.  “And… this isn’t something you're happy about?”

 

“No, I am!” I protest.  “But, well… I guess I’m surprised that you're happy about it.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

 

My face flushes even hotter.  This is a conversation I never thought I’d be having with my father.  “Um… I don't… I don't know… ”

 

Chuckling, Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug.  “Do you love Peeta?”

 

I nod against his chest.  “Yes.”

 

“And he loves you?”

 

“Mmm-hmm.”

 

“Of course he does,” Dad replies.  “I could tell he had eyes for you way back when you both were small.  In fact, Dan and I used to joke about it sometimes.”

 

“You did?” I ask, raising my head.  I knew that my father and Mr. Mellark saw each other at least once a week, since Dad used to trade at the bakery every weekend.  But I never thought that they were on friendly enough terms to where they could joke about their respective children someday getting together.  My own views regarding Peeta’s father were often mixed.  He was always kind to me, and very generous with his trades, both with my father and with Gale and me.  But I was still wary of him, feeling that he should’ve done more to protect Peeta from his mother.  Peeta told me a few times that his mom often told him that she wished he’d been born a girl, since a third son born into a Merchant family was more of a liability than a blessing.  And from what I could see, Mr. Mellark never did enough to keep his wife from hitting her sons.  Peeta would try to pass off his bruises and black eyes as wrestling injuries, or from altercations with his brothers, but I always knew better.

 

“Yeah,” Dad says, sighing.  “He told me once that he hoped the two of you would end up together, because of how protective you were of Prim.  He knew you would be protective of Peeta too.”

 

My throat constricts, and I swallow hard.  “He was right.”

 

“Yes, he was.”  He lets out a soft chuckle.  “Because no one messes with my songbird.  Or anyone close to her.  When you love, you love fiercely, Katniss.  There's no hiding how you feel when you look at someone.  And I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Peeta.”

 

“He’s my light,” I whisper.  “He saved me.”

 

“And you saved him,” Dad says.  “And no matter what happens, with his hand, or his leg, or this war, or anything else, the two of you will have each other.”  He plucks the picture from my hand.  “And your baby girl will be very, very lucky to have you and Peeta as parents.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dad shifts in his chair, placing both hands on my shoulders.  “Peeta’s gonna be okay, Katniss.  I know he is.  Especially after you show him that picture.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“Do you want me to sit here with you until he's out of surgery?” Dad asks.

 

“Yeah,” I say after a short pause.  “If that's okay.”

 

Leaning back in his chair, he replaces his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.  “Of course it's okay.  Besides, you're saving me from another meeting with Plutarch Heavensbee and his production crew.  They want to interview me for one of their broadcasts.”

 

“Mmm.  Have you met Effie yet.”

 

“Ah, yes, I have.”  He clears his throat, sounding uncomfortable.  “Don’t tell your mom, but she tried to flirt with me.  Or at least I think she did.  It's been awhile since someone’s tried to flirt with me, so I might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure—“

 

“She tried to flirt with Gale too,” I say, chuckling.  Besides Peeta, my father is the one person who can always manage to get me to smile.  “But he wasn’t too impressed.”

 

“Nah, I doubt he would’ve been.  Gale seems pretty smitten with Miss Undersee, from what I've seen.  It's about time he settled down.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

 

Dad continues with the small talk for another thirty minutes, until the lead surgeon finally steps into the waiting room, still dressed in his surgical scrubs.

 

“We’ve just moved the patient back to his room,” he says in a clipped, somewhat impatient tone.  “I managed to realign the all the bones in the fingers and hand using screws and plates, but it's going to be a long process of healing.  This is one of the most severely damaged hands I've ever seen.”

 

“Okay,” I say in a shaky voice.  “Will he ever be able to draw again?”

 

The surgeon shakes his head.  “I won't be able to tell you that until the bones are healed and we begin with physical therapy.  Unfortunately, we won't know the extent of any nerve damage until he tries to start using it.”

 

Dad squeezes my shoulders.  “And Peeta’s leg?” he asks.

 

The surgeon huffs out a breath.  “We were able to remove all of the infection present, but in order to save the leg we had to remove a rather substantial amount of muscle and other tissues along with the infection pocket.  It will heal, but the leg will be weak, and he’ll always have a limp, I’m afraid.”

 

“That’s okay,” I say.  “I’m more worried about his hand.”

 

“And like I said, we’ll have to wait and see.”  He glances at the clock. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and dictate my surgical notes.”

 

“Um, okay,” I mumble as he walks swiftly out of the room.  I scowl as the door closes behind him.  “He did know that there was a real person attached to that hand he was operating on, didn't he?”

 

“He’s a surgeon,” Dad says, shaking his head.  “That’s just how most of them are.”  He nudges my shoulder.  “C’mon, let's go see how Peeta’s doing.”

 

Clutching the ultrasound picture in my hand, we walk down the hall to Peeta’s room, stepping inside when the nurse motions for us to enter.

 

“I’m just getting the last of his meds going,” she says, hanging an IV bag on the pole next to the bed.  “He’s awake from the anesthesia, but he's on a fairly high dose of morphling right now, so he's still pretty sleepy.”

 

Peeta’s hand is being held suspended by the pulley again, although this time instead of a splint, it's wrapped in a plaster cast, with each of his fingers encased in their own separate padded section.  His body is covered with blankets up to his chest, but I can see the lump from the thick bandages wrapped around his left thigh, where they removed the infection.

 

“Okay,” I say, sinking down into my usual chair.  “Thank you.”

 

“You can talk to him,” the nurse says.  “He can hear you.”

 

Dad claps his hand on my shoulder.  “I’m going to go find your mother, Katniss.  I'll come and check on you two a bit later, okay?”

 

“Thank you, Daddy.”  I reach for Peeta’s left hand under the blankets.  “I’m here, Peeta.”

 

His eyes, with those impossibly long eyelashes, flutter open, flicking towards me as he breathes in.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “You look beautiful today.”

 

“Hey,” I whisper back.  “You look… um… ”

 

“Like I’ve been in a fight?” he says, struggling to keep his eyes open.  “I sure feel like I've been in a fight.”

 

I smile in spite of myself.  “Well… yeah, actually.”

 

“Did I win, at least?” he asks.

 

“Absolutely,” I say, squeezing his hand.  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah.  So you know what I think?”

 

“What?”

 

“I think you owe me a kiss.”

 

I can't help it, I burst out laughing.  The morphling has made him loopy.  “Oh, you think so?”

 

His full lips stretch into a smile, his swollen blue eyes twinkling.  “Yeah, I do.  So c’mere and kiss me.”

 

Rising from the chair, I lean over him and brush my lips gently across his, almost ruining the kiss with my smile.  I start to back away, but his hand curves around the back of my neck, holding me in place as he kisses the corners of my mouth before pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that nearly steals my breath.  His lips are chapped but warm, always so warm, and I’m dazed and whimpering by the time he releases me.

 

“That’s so much better than any painkiller,” he murmurs, kissing across my cheekbone.  “I think I'll need more of those, to help speed up my recovery.”

 

I reach again for his hand, pressing my lips to his knuckles.  “I have something else that might help speed your recovery.”

 

“Oh?  What’s that?”

 

“Here,” I say as I place the picture of our baby into his hand.  He grasps it, blinking a few times as he tries to figure out what it is.  I see the exact moment he realizes it, as his blue eyes fill with tears and his jaw drops open.

 

“Katniss, is this—, um… I mean… is this a baby?“

 

“Yes,” I whisper.  “This is our baby.  You’re gonna be a daddy, Peeta.”

 

His eyes widen in surprise, then squeeze closed as tears leak out of the corners, trailing down over his bruised cheeks.  “Oh wow,” he rasps.  He brings the picture to his chest, holding it over his heart.  “Our baby?  This is our baby?”

 

“Mmm-hmm.  Prim says I’m around ten weeks, which means she’ll be due in the fall.”

 

He scrubs at his eyes with his palm before picking up the photo.  “She?  You know the baby’s a girl?”

 

“Prim says she’s a girl,” I tell him.  “She said she couldn’t see any boy parts, so… “

 

Peeta lets out a raspy chuckle.  “Oh, she's beautiful, Katniss.”  Dropping the photo on his chest, he reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips.  “Just like her mother.”

 

Leaning forward, I press a soft kiss to his lips, trailing my thumb along his jaw, careful to avoid the worst of the bruising.  “You should rest now, so you can heal. Okay?”

 

He nods, relaxing back into his pillows and closing his eyes.  “Will you stay with me?”

 

Yawning, I tuck the photo back into my pocket before cradling his good hand between my own.  He’s asleep two breaths later, the soft smile still gracing his lips as I brush a stray curl from his forehead, leaning over to whisper into his ear.

 

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Everlark deserved this lighter chapter, don't you? :) Please be sure to drop me a review! I love hearing what my readers think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to DandelionSunset for betaing these long chapters. She is an incredible author and an even better friend. :) 
> 
> I also need to thank Titianasfics and stjohn27 for their encouragement and brainstorming. :)
> 
> This chapter is rated M for sexual content.

“That’s it, Peeta, you’re doing great!” says the tall, overly cheerful physical therapist as Peeta limps his way to the end of the parallel bars.  “Okay, Katniss, let’s turn him around and do it again.”

 

I grit my teeth, biting back a retort as we get Peeta turned so he’s facing his bed, draping his casted right arm across my shoulders.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy helping him with his physical therapy.  I just wish the therapist didn’t look like a skinnier, prettier version of Delly Cartwright, complete with her bubbly personality and never ending smile.  And it's not that I don't like Delly.  Everyone likes Delly; she’s one of those people who’s so nice that she’s impossible not to like.  But she’s always been someone I can take only in small doses, and we’ve been working here for over an hour already.

 

“Are you too tired, Katniss?” Peeta asks me as he grips the left parallel bar firmly, testing his weight on his trembling left leg.  “We can stop if you need to.”

 

I shake my head, looking up into his piercing blue eyes and trying to smile.  “No, I’m fine.  We can go again.”

 

“All right!” the therapist says.  I think her name is Andrea, which even sounds cheerful and pretty.  “Let’s do it one more time!”

 

“Sounds good,” Peeta says, his voice strong despite the obvious pain that he’s in.  “Ready, Katniss?”

 

“Ready.”

 

Eight slow, shaky steps later and Peeta’s at the end of the bars, sweating and panting for breath.  “That’s enough for this session, Peeta,” Andrea says.  “We’ll work on these some more tomorrow.  Try and get some good rest tonight!”

 

I scowl as I help Peeta back onto his bed.  The nurse comes in as soon as he lies back, reattaching the medication and nutrition infusions to the IV port in his neck.  Peeta’s been on strong anti-infective medicines ever since he was brought here, and he’s still on a fairly high dose of morphling because of all the physical therapy.

 

The doctors warned us that Peeta would have to relearn how to walk after his leg surgery, but I don’t think either of us were prepared for just how much work it was going to take.  In addition to the twice daily sessions on the parallel bars, he has massage therapy to help soothe and strengthen the remaining muscle in his thigh, as well as water therapy four days a week, where he practices walking in a shallow pool.  

 

So far, I’ve been able to be here for almost all of his therapy sessions.  But Haymitch informed me just yesterday that President Coin’s patience with my absence from my Mockingjay duties was rapidly coming to an end.  With the Capitol and districts currently at an uneasy stalemate, and little useful progress made on deprogramming Rye Mellark, Coin is starting to get desperate for something to happen to tip the odds back in her favor.

 

“All right,” Andrea says once she’s finished packing up her equipment.  “I’ll see you both tomorrow!”

 

“Thank you, Andrea,” Peeta says as she exits.  

 

As soon as the door closes behind her, Peeta cups my cheek in his good hand, tilting my head so he can see my eyes.  “What’s the matter, Katniss?  You’re scowling more than usual today.”

 

His blue eyes are playful, teasing, and I can’t help but smile back at him.  

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nope, I don't buy that,” he says, shaking his head.  “You know you’re a terrible liar, Katniss.  Tell me what’s wrong.  Please?”

 

Instead of answering I move to the sink, wetting a washcloth with cold water so I can clean the sweat from Peeta’s face.  “You need your hair washed,” I say as I rub his forehead and temples.  “I’ll do it tonight after dinner, okay?”

 

“Katniss!”  His hand wraps around my wrist, moving my hand away from his face.  His eyes darken as they bore into mine, a side effect of the lingering tracker jacker venom, according to Beetee.  “What is wrong?”

 

My lower lip starts to quiver, and I shake my head, unable to put into words exactly how I’m feeling.  “I’m just… tired, I think. That’s all.”   _ And grumpy, and jealous, and my belly’s starting to grow and I don’t recognize my body anymore, and if I don’t get outside soon I think I’ll go bonkers…  _

 

I don’t say any of that out loud, of course.  Peeta’s got enough to worry about with his recovery without me adding to it with my petty concerns.

 

But, as usual, he seems to be able to read my mind.  “Why don't you and Gale and your Dad go hunting tomorrow?”  He leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead.  “I think being outside would do you some good.”

 

I shake my head, wiping the washcloth carefully down his jaw.  The bruises from his imprisonment are almost gone, save for a few of the more stubborn ones.  “Gale and Dad have strategy meetings scheduled all day tomorrow.  And I want to be here with you for your therapy.”

 

Peeta again stops my hand.  “Okay, then have Rory go with you.  Or that guy Finnick, I bet he wouldn’t mind.  Or even Haymitch. Katniss, you haven’t been outside since I got here, and that was over three weeks ago.  Please, I want you to go. Prim can help me tomorrow.”

 

“But—”

 

“No buts, Katniss,” he says firmly.  “I think you’d feel a lot better if you got outside for a while.”

 

“Okay,” I whisper.  “I’ll go.”

 

“Good,” he says leaning back in his bed.  I finish blotting his face, leaning over to kiss his cheek once I’m done.   As I back away his hand curves around my neck, pulling me towards him until our foreheads are pressed together.  His thumb brushes softly across my bottom lip.  “You’re so beautiful, Katniss.  Even more now that you’re carrying our baby.  Don’t ever forget that.”

 

I look into his eyes, those blue eyes with the cobalt flecks and the impossibly long eyelashes.  “I won’t.”

 

His lips press against mine, molding perfectly as they always do, his thumb tracing patterns on my cheekbone as my lips part to allow him in.  That hunger I have for him that’s always there, smoldering in the background, flares to life, and I thread my fingers through his sweaty curls, holding him in place as his tongue thoroughly explores my mouth.

 

“Peeta,” I gasp as his mouth breaks from mine.  My breaths come out in short, shallow pants as he trails tiny kisses along my jaw to my neck, finding that sweet spot that makes me tug harder on his hair.

 

“God, Katniss,” he whispers, kissing back to my mouth.  “I can’t wait until I can hold you properly again.  I can’t wait until we can be alone, and not have to worry about doctors and nurses and therapists walking in at all hours.  I can’t wait until I can lay you down on our bed and undress you slowly.  I can’t wait until I can map your entire body with my hands and lips until you’re begging for me to take you.”  He pecks my lips one more time before leaning back, his blue eyes blackened with lust, his face flushed and his hair disheveled.  “You have no idea, the effect you have on me.  There’s no one for me except you.  Always.  Got that?”

 

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, too keyed up to form real words.  Peeta always said I was an open book.  I guess he was right.

 

“Soon, love,” he whispers, pulling my head down to rest against his chest.  The heavy weight of the cast on his right hand settles against my back, holding me tightly in place.  “Not too much longer.”

 

* * *

_ “Good morning, Mr. Carter,” Antonius says as he enters the Control Room, still buttoning his uniform coat.  Carter can't help but notice the dark circles under the Minister’s eyes and the slight wrinkled appearance of his usually impeccably pressed white shirt.  He wonders if he has had difficulty sleeping lately. _

 

_ “Good morning, sir,” Carter replies, tapping his fist to his heart.  “How are you on this fine day?” _

 

_ “Fine, fine,” Antonius replies, waving his hand.  Carter watches as he glances around the room, his eyes falling on the three trainers sitting idly at their stations.  Ever since Soldier Eighteen went rogue the Ellipses program has been slowly reduced down to nothing, and it bothers Carter to no end that Antonius chose to waste so many resources simply because his ego couldn’t take one small failure.  So many good soldiers lost trying to retrieve Eighteen, and then the brutal rebels slaughtering so many others as they attempted to carry out their missions.  Soldier Seventeen was the last soldier remaining, prior to his capture. _

 

_ And now, they have nothing.  There aren’t even any Peacekeeper cadets to train, since anyone with even a hint of training has been pulled to help defend the Capitol against further rebel attack. _

 

_ “Something on your mind, sir?” Carter dares to ask, noting the tightness of Antonius’s jaw and the frown marring his brow.   _

 

_ “Nothing of your concern, Mr. Carter,” Antonius replies.  He rubs at his temple with his fingers, as if to massage away a tension headache.  “I do have one task for you to complete, however. If you please.”  He gestures to Carter’s workstation. _

 

_ “Yes, sir,” Carter replies as they step over to the monitor, currently displaying a photo of the Peacekeeper barricade around the Training Center. _

 

_ Antonius leans in, his voice low as he speaks.  “I wish for you to conduct a thorough security check on every remaining trainer in this facility.  Once that is complete, you will report these results back to me personally.” _

 

_ Pushing his glasses back up his nose, Carter nods.  “May I ask, sir, the purpose of this additional check?” _

 

_ “I am planning to close down this facility, Mr. Carter,” Antonius responds.  “There is no reason to maintain trainers for a program that has, for all intents and purposes, been shut down.  Once we are able to regain control of the districts, I will then look into the possibility of reopening.  But for the time being, it is not in our financial interests to pay trainers to sit around and watch Peacekeepers standing guard.” _

 

_ A shiver runs down Carter’s spine, as if someone dumped ice water down the back of his crisp white shirt.  “And, if the trainers don't pass the security check, sir?  What then?” _

 

_ Antonius straightens his back, tugging on the sleeves of his uniform coat.  “They will be terminated, Mr. Carter.  I am sure you, of all people, can understand the potential issues of having disgruntled employees who pose security risks being let loose in the country?” _

 

_ Carter swallows hard, nodding.  He wonders what sort of parameters Antonius will use to determine if someone is a security risk.  “Yes, sir. I can understand.” _

 

_ “How long do you require for such a task, Mr. Carter?” Antonius asks. _

 

_ “With the level of thoroughness I’m sure you would appreciate, I will estimate it to take at least five days.  Sir.” _

 

_ “Very well,” Antonius says.  He pinches the bridge of his nose.  “See that it is done.” _

 

_ “Yes, sir.” _

 

_ “Is there anything else?” the Minister asks.  “There are other matters I must attend to for the rest of the day.” _

 

_ “No, sir,” Carter replies.  “I will, of course, let you know if anything else requires your attention.” _

 

_ Waving his hand dismissively, Antonius heads for the door.  “Good day, Mr. Carter.” _

 

_ Carter watches the Minister leave, sitting down at his workstation as soon as the door clicks shut behind him.  He huffs out a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.  He knows what has to be done; him having the courage to see it through being the only remaining barrier. _

 

_ As a systems analyst, and a highly talented one at that, Carter knows that you never discard anything that might be of use later on.  He smiles as he remembers when he discovered the covert communications program used by Plutarch Heavensbee to communicate with District Thirteen, back at the very beginning of the revolution.  Minister Antonius had never ordered him to destroy the program, so he hadn’t, moving it instead into the file he kept of outdated but still potentially useful items.  He also never deletes the search history on his personal workstation.  You never know when those old searches might prove useful. _

 

_ Such as, how to read and write in Morse Code. _

 

_ Carter peeks over the top of his workstation, checking on the activity of the other trainers.  One of the men, who was snoring into the crook of his arm before Minister Antonius appeared, has resumed his nap.  The two others are both engrossed in card games on their monitors, their wide, unblinking stare indicative of someone engrossed in the repetitive movements of Solitaire.  The coast appears to be clear. _

 

_ Pulling up Heavensbee’s program, Carter starts tapping commands into his keyboard, assigning a new username and fourteen digit password to the program and adding three additional levels of encryption, just in case any of the other trainers get bored enough of their games to go snooping around where they're not wanted. _

 

_ The encryption completed, Carter consults his reference, the perfectionist in him not wishing to misspell anything in a message of this importance.   _

 

_ THIS IS THE TRAINING CENTER.  TO WHOM AM I SPEAKING? _

 

_ Carter drums his fingers on the keyboard as he waits.  He’s not quite sure what sort of response he’s expecting.  For all he knows, there’s no one even monitoring this channel anymore, in which case this will all be for naught.  But something tells him there just might be a chance…  _

 

_ THIS IS DISTRICT THIRTEEN.  STATE THE NATURE OF YOUR INQUIRY. _

 

_ His heart pounding, Carter licks his lips, stealing another glance at his fellow trainers.  If he thought hacking into Antonius’s medical files was treasonous, he's certain he would be executed on the spot for this. _

 

_ But, if it was to succeed… the possibilities could be endless.   _

 

_ Carter flexes his fingers, noting the clamminess of his palms.  He pauses over the keyboard, inhaling deeply as he types out his response. _

 

_ I WISH TO DISCUSS TERMS OF SURRENDER. _

 

* * *

I lean against the wall of the shower, closing my eyes as the warm water rains down over my exhausted body, my palms running over my slightly rounded belly.  Of all the things I dislike about living here in Thirteen, the showers aren’t one of them.  There’s something about a shower that’s very comforting, like being caught out in the rain on a summer day.  When Peeta and I move back to Twelve, I’m going to see if we can build one in our house.

 

Unfortunately, like everything else in Thirteen, the showers are rationed, with the water turning itself off after only six minutes.  Sighing, I push myself off from the wall and scrub shampoo into my hair, barely able to rinse all the suds away before the water shuts off.

 

I shiver as I dry myself off with the grey towel and grab my plain white undergarments.  The faded grey button-down shirt is a bit tighter across my chest than it used to be, and the twill pants are getting harder and harder to button as the days pass.  In fact, I’ve taken to unbuttoning them lately in the evenings after dinner and just wearing my shirt over the waistband.  I suppose this means I’ll have to trade out my clothes for larger ones soon.

 

After braiding back my hair, I exit the compartment and head to the cafeteria for breakfast.  I usually sit and eat with Prim or my parents, or sometimes Gale and Madge, but none of them are here this morning.  Must’ve been an early morning for everyone today. 

 

I stifle a yawn as I ride the elevator down to the intensive care unit.  The nurse on duty last night wouldn’t allow me to sleep in Peeta’s bed with him, saying it was against the rules, even though the other night nurses have let us.  I tried sleeping on the chair next to him for awhile, but it got to be so uncomfortable that halfway through the night Peeta insisted I return to our quarters and try to sleep in the bed instead.

 

I did try, if only to help him get some more sleep, but it was only a couple of hours before the nightmares hit, like they always do when we’re apart.  So I just ended up sitting on the couch again, flipping through the sketchbook until 0700, when the ICU nurses change shifts.

 

Peeta’s day nurse is serving him his breakfast as I enter the room.  A stab of pain pierces my heart as I watch him awkwardly pick up his spoon with his left hand, struggling to scoop up the bland porridge that’s served every single day for breakfast.  When he first started eating again I tried to help him, not being able to take watching him struggle.  But I was reprimanded by both the nurses and the physical therapists, saying that he needed to learn how to more effectively use his left hand, just in case.  Even if he’s able to regain complete use of his right hand, the cast doesn’t even come off for another four weeks, and no one can give us an estimate on how long the physical therapy process will take until the cast comes off.

 

“Good morning, love,” Peeta says when he sees me.  His face falls as he takes me in.  “You didn’t sleep at all, did you.”

 

I lean over to kiss him before sitting down onto the uncomfortable chair.  “You know I can’t sleep well without you.”

 

Dropping the spoon, he reaches for my face, cupping my cheek.  “Well, if it helps at all, Dr. Mullins said I can move out of the ICU in a couple days.  Then you should be allowed to stay with me through the night every night.”

 

“That’s good,” I say, trying to smile as he scoops up another spoonful of porridge.

 

“You’re still going hunting today though, right?” he asks.

 

“Mmm-hmm.  Finnick said he’d go with me.  Prim will be here for your therapy in the afternoon.”

 

“Good,” he replies, his blue eyes twinkling.  “I think you’ll feel a lot better once you’ve been outside for a bit.”

 

My heart flutters, the way it always does when he looks at me like that.  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

After breakfast it’s time for Peeta’s morning session on the parallel bars.  Andrea the therapist is her usual bubbly self, and it’s all I can do to to not growl at her as she oohs and aahs over how well Peeta’s walking is improving by the end of the session.

 

“You’re improving so quickly, Peeta!” she exclaims.  “I wish all my patients were as dedicated to their recovery as you are!”

 

“Well, I have a lot of motivation,” Peeta replies, winking at me as he settles back down on his bed.

 

“I can tell!” Andrea replies, packing up her equipment.  “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.  Pretty soon you won’t even need me anymore.”

 

_ That would be fine with me _ , I think.  “Isn’t that the point of what you’re doing?” I say instead.  “To work yourself out of a job?”

 

“Well,” Andrea sputters, her cheerful demeanor shaking just slightly.  “I guess… that’s one way you could put it.”  She shakes her head, plastering the smile back onto her face.  “I’m just very proud when my patients make so much progress in such a short time.”

 

Peeta reaches for my hand, squeezing it tight.  “Thank you, Andrea.  We really appreciate your help.”

 

“I’ll see you this afternoon!” she says as she exits the room.  As soon as the door closes, Peeta turns to me.

 

“What is wrong?” he asks, his brow furrowed with concern.  “And don’t try to tell me nothing, because I won’t believe you.”

 

Tears sting my dry, tired eyes, and I shake my head.  I know it’s completely irrational of me to be this jealous of someone who probably treats all her patients the same way she treats Peeta.  But sometimes I just can’t help but wonder what he sees in me; a short, skinny girl from the Seam, when he could have a tall, blonde-haired girl like that.

 

As always, Peeta seems able to read me perfectly.  “Come here,” he says, raising his arm.  I crawl into his embrace, hearing the comforting sound of his heart beating beneath my ear, his lips pressing against against the top of my head.  “That better?”

 

I breathe in a shaky breath, burrowing further into his side.  “Yeah.”

 

“I didn’t sleep well last night either,” Peeta confesses.  “After you left.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.  “I’m sorry, Peeta.”

 

“Don't be sorry,” he says.  “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”  His hand cups my chin, tilting my head up so he can kiss me.  It’s a short, sweet kiss, but it still sends bolts of warmth shooting down my body.  “I love you, Katniss.”

 

Smiling, I pull his head down for another kiss.  “I love you, too.”

 

“I know you do,” he whispers, stroking my hair.  “It’s in everything you do and say, Katniss.  I’m so lucky.  So incredibly lucky, to have such an amazing wife.”

 

Hearing him say the word ‘wife’ sends another jolt of warmth through me, and I lean up, pressing my lips to his again, curving my hand around his cheek to hold him in place.  

 

“Now,” he says when we finally break apart.  “I’ll see you later today, okay?”

 

I glance at the clock, noting that it’s almost lunchtime.  I told Finnick I’d meet him down in Special Defense after lunch to pick up my bow and arrows. 

 

“Okay,” I whisper.  “See you later.”

 

* * *

Finnick is waiting for me at the entrance to Special Defense.  “Hey, Girl on Fire,” he says once he sees me, grinning his signature cheeky grin.  “Ready to show me the great outdoors of District Thirteen?”

 

“As long as you don’t taunt me to the point of wanting to shoot you,” I retort as the guard hands me my bow and arrows.  I run my hand gently along the bow, reveling in the feel of the soft, polished wood beneath my palm.  Peeta is right.  It has been far too long since I’ve been hunting.

 

Stepping outside, Finnick and I head west about a half mile, where the rubble ends and the woods takes over.  He keeps up a running commentary as we walk, talking about everything from troop movements in the districts to Annie’s developing friendship with Johanna to how much he misses eating shrimp.

 

“I mean, you’d think I’d have gotten tired of them, having worked on the boat for most of my life, ya know?” he says, shaking his head.  “But after these past few months of eating whatever it is they call food here, I’d just about give up my firstborn for one serving of shrimp cocktail.”  He stops short, looking at me with one bronze eyebrow cocked.  “Speaking of firstborns, how’s yours coming along.  Are you feeling any better lately?”

 

I shake my head, holding my finger to my lips as I spot a flock of geese off in the distance.  I wasn’t at all surprised that Plutarch worked the news of my pregnancy into the very next set of propos that went out following Peeta and Dad’s rescue, but that doesn’t mean I’m not bitter about it.  As if I need more people staring at me everywhere I go.  From what Prim’s told me, there hadn’t been a successful pregnancy in Thirteen since the pox epidemic wiped out a good percentage of the population, which makes the news of mine even more appealing.

 

Taking position behind a tree, I notch an arrow and aim, taking out two of the geese before the rest have a chance to fly away.  

 

“I’m feeling a bit better,” I say as we walk to pick up the geese, stuffing them into my game bag.  “I just started the second trimester, and the nausea has gone down some.”  I kick at a fallen branch as we walk.  “Having Peeta back helps too.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Finnick replies, winking.  “I was right when I said you’d be a lot friendlier after he was found.  I noticed a difference pretty much right away.”

 

Heat floods my cheeks, and I look away.  “Finnick, he’s been in the hospital… recovering… we haven’t—”

 

Finnick chuckles, holding up his hand.  “I’m just teasing you, Katniss,” he says.  “I know how much you care about him.  It’s written all over your face every time his name is even mentioned.”

 

“Yeah,” I mumble.

 

We walk along in silence for awhile.  I manage to shoot a couple of nice rabbits, and we track a doe for about a half mile until Finnick scares her away when he slips down a short incline.  With the sun starting to dip below the treetops, we decide to call it a day and head back.

 

“So,” Finnick says as we walk.  “Have you heard what they’re trying with Peeta’s brother tomorrow?”

 

I press my lips together, remembering the lengthy discussion we had about Rye during Peeta’s surgery.  “No, I haven’t.”

 

“Well, so far they’ve only had people native to District Thirteen treating him, with the concern being that strangers were less likely to set him off than people he knows.  Or knew, I guess is the better word.”

 

“Yeah,” I reply, ducking under a low branch.  “So?”

 

Finnick stops, turning to me with narrowed eyes.  “So, they’re going to send in someone from Twelve tomorrow to try and talk to him.  Delly, I think her name is.  She said she used to play with Peeta growing up, so Rye would know her, but hopefully not perceive her as a threat to him.”

 

“I don’t think anyone could ever perceive Delly as a threat,” I say, scowling at the look on Finnick’s face.  “What?”

 

“I don’t know, Katniss,” Finnick says.  “I just thought you’d be a little more understanding, that’s all.  I mean, he’s Peeta’s brother.”

 

“Peeta’s brother who beat him!” I cry, clenching my fists.  “Peeta’s brother who tortured him!  Who tried to kill him!  Who threw me into a pit and left me to die!”

 

“He couldn’t help it, Katniss!” Finnick yells, sending a flock of birds flying from a clump of trees behind us.  “You don’t understand it like I do.  I was the agent in District Four for six years, and I saw so many horrible things.  I saw friends of mine taken away, vanished as if they had never even existed, only to have them turn up several months later and be nearly unrecognizable.  It was like they were puppets, Katniss.  With the Capitol controlling the strings.  They no longer had minds of their own, no motivations other than their programmed targets.”  He picks up a forked tree branch and launches it at a tree ten yards away, watching as it sticks to the tree and doesn’t budge.  “Did you ever stop to think that it could’ve just as easily been Peeta?  I mean, no one had ever contemplated the possibility that someone could resist the Ellipses training before he came along.”

 

I let out a sob, pressing my palm into my hand to stifle the rest, not wanting to cry in front of Finnick.  I think intellectually I’d always known that Peeta could have succumbed to the brainwashing a lot easier than it had to have been to fight against it.  But I haven’t wanted to admit it out loud.

 

“Yeah,” I whisper.  “I have.”

 

“And, you said yourself that Peeta wants us to try and help Rye.  Correct?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, then I’d suggest you put a little more effort into showing it,” Finnick says.  He tugs on my sleeve, indicating that we should resume our walk.  “Because once Peeta’s out of the hospital and off all his painkillers, I don’t think he’ll appreciate your lousy attitude.”

 

I don’t answer, and Finnick doesn’t press for one until we’ve dropped the haul off at the kitchens.  

 

“Think about what I said, okay, Katniss?” he says.  “Most of the Ellipses soldiers didn’t ask for what happened to them.  They were real people once.  And maybe, if we’re careful, Rye can be a real person again someday.”

 

“I will,” I say, nodding.  “I’ll do it for Peeta.”

 

“That’ll work,” Finnick says.  “See ya later, Girl on Fire.”

 

I scowl as he heads off towards the residential section.  I wait a few minutes and then follow, stopping off in my quarters to wash up a bit before heading back down to the hospital.

 

Peeta’s face lights up as soon as I walk into his room.  “Hey!  How was it?”

 

“It was nice,” I reply as I sit down on the edge of his bed.  “I got a couple geese and some rabbits.”

 

“Good.”  His hand reaches for me, bringing my lips to his.  “Mmm.  You smell like the woods.”

 

“It’s still not our woods,” I say, rather petulantly.  “But you were right.  It was nice to get out there again.”

 

His good arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.  “Dr. Mullins confirmed that I’ll be moved out of the ICU in two days.  The beds are bigger, and the nurses only come in to check once during the night.”

 

“That sounds good,” I say, yawning.  He’s so steady and warm, always so warm, and after being outside all afternoon, I’m so tired.  “How long until the nurse comes back?”

 

“She was just here,” he whispers, stroking my hair.  “Go ahead and sleep for a bit, love.  I've got you.”

 

* * *

“All right,” President Coin says to the woman on the other end of the holo, a commander by the name of Lyme.  It’s yet another discussion regarding the Nut, the enemy fortification located in District 2.  After District 13 decimated most of the Capitol’s armament during the Dark Days rebellion, the Capitol decided to move their remaining hovercraft and heavy artillery to Two, and have been refortifying and rebuilding ever since.  President Coin has been obsessed with taking over the Nut for as long as I've been here, but so far every single attempt that’s been made has failed, resulting in heavy rebel casualties.

 

“I won’t risk the lives of my troops again just to pillage weapons,” Commander Paylor pipes up, her voice firm over the holo.  “I’ve lost too many people already trying to take down this fortification.”

 

“It is imperative that we gain control of the weapons inside that fortress!” Coin snaps.  “If not, this stalemate could go on forever, and at an unsustainable cost to lives!”

 

“Perhaps, Madam President,” Gale says from his seat next to my father.  “It would be better to try and disable the mountain, rather than take it over?”  He looks over at Beetee.  “If we were to set our explosives at strategic points around the mountain, we could cause avalanches that would seal it off, trapping the hovercraft and weaponry under tons of rock.”

 

“You’d be trapping hundreds of people down there too,” says Boggs.  “They should be given a chance to surrender.  The majority of them are citizens of Two.”

 

Gale shakes his head, scowling.  “The Capitol didn’t give us a chance to surrender when they bombed Twelve!  We had nearly no warning, and we lost so many people!  Why should we be any different!”

 

“Because we're not the Capitol, Gale,” says Dad.  “We’re better than that.”

 

“You weren’t there!” Gale says, pointing his finger at my father, his grey eyes blazing.  “You weren’t there when those bombs hit!”  He points to me next.  “Just like you weren’t there!  Thom and Madge and Rory and I, we tried so hard to save people, but we could only do so much.”

 

Dad glances at me, holding up his hand.  “No, we weren’t there,” he says evenly.  “Neither Katniss nor I were in District Twelve when the bombs hit.  But that doesn’t mean we weren’t fighting our own part of the war.”  He looks around the room, catching the eye of Beetee, who nods.  “We’re better people than that.  Set your explosives around the mountain.  But give the people inside of it a chance to surrender first.”

 

“I agree, Madam President,” Lyme says from the holo.

 

Coin purses her thin lips, her pencil tapping furiously as she ponders.  “Very well,” she finally says.  “Gale, Beetee, James, and Boggs, you will be flying out to District Two this afternoon.  Coordinate with Commanders Lyme and Paylor on the best way to bring down the mountain.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” all four men mumble simultaneously.  

 

“Very well,” Coin says, switching off the holo.  “You are dismissed to prepare for your trip.”

 

With a scraping of chairs, the four men get to their feet, with Dad patting me on the shoulder as he shuffles out of the room.  I glance over at Haymitch, raising my eyebrow.  He shakes his head.

 

“Now then,” Coin says, pausing her tapping as she turns to me.  Her pale grey eyes narrow as they study my face.  “I’ve received a complaint about you, Miss Everdeen.”

 

“What?  From who?”

 

“The identity of the person who lodged the complaint is irrelevant, Miss Everdeen.”  She leans back in her chair, the eraser of her pencil pounding into the table.  “But I have to say, if you think that your duties as the Mockingjay give you free reign to flaunt the rules of the district, then you are gravely mistaken.  Those rules are in place for very good reasons, and I will not tolerate them being broken on the whims of a teenage girl.”

 

“But… I—“ I sputter, shaking my head, my blood boiling when I see Plutarch trying to suppress a smile.

 

“Maybe it would be better if you told us what you’re talking about?” Haymitch says.

 

Coin shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  “It has come to my attention that you have been spending the nights in the hospital, with Mr. Mellark.  It is strictly forbidden for anyone to remain overnight in the hospital with a patient that is not a family member.  This will cease, Miss Everdeen.  Effective immediately.”

 

My eyes widen in shock; surely this is a sick joke of some kind.  “But I am Peeta’s family! I’m his wife!”

 

“We have no record of a marriage taking place between you and Mr. Peeta Mellark,” Coin says.  “And without an official record, I cannot condone—“

 

“They had a toasting ceremony,” Haymitch states.  “It’s our traditional ceremony from District Twelve.  There, the piece of paper is just a formality.  It’s the toasting that actually means something.”

 

“And that may be the case, in District Twelve,” Coin says, and I swear I see her sneer at me.  “But I’m afraid here, in Thirteen, everyone must follow the rules for this district.  With no exceptions.”

 

“Then give me the piece of paper!” I say, trying desperately to keep my emotions in check.  “I'll sign it, and so will Peeta.  But we can’t—, we can’t be apart.”  My voice rises as I continue; I feel as though I’m drowning in a sea of panic.  “Neither of us can sleep if we're apart.  He needs me, and I need him.”

 

Coin shakes her head, her grey hair swinging across her shoulders like a heavy curtain.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Everdeen, but you are not yet eighteen years old.  In order to marry you will require parental permission.”

 

“James and Lily will sign the damn piece of paper, and you know it!” snaps Haymitch.  “Is it really worth it to cause this much trouble over a few sleepovers?  Especially after what the boy’s been through?”

 

“No one is above the rules, Mr. Abernathy!” Coin yells.  “This district has thrived on order and rules for over seventy-five years, and I won't have that changing now!”

 

“We’ll sign the paper!” I say frantically.  “Peeta and me, we’ll sign it.  And my father and mother will too.  Please, we can't be away from each other at night.  The nightmares, they’re just too bad!”

 

“Very well,” Coin sighs, waving her hand as if she’s shooing away a bothersome insect.  “But you will not be allowed to remain in Mr. Mellark’s room overnight until it is official.”

 

“I'll catch up with James,” Haymitch says, patting me on the shoulder.  “We’ll get this done this afternoon, before they leave.”

 

“And I'll inform the camera crew,” Plutarch says, smirking.  “This will be an excellent edition to our Star-Crossed Lover propo series.”

 

My heart is pounding so hard I feel faint, my mind a swirling mix of anger, fear, and disbelief.  What have I done to make Coin so angry?

 

“See that it is done,” Coin says dismissively, pointing towards the door.  “And Miss Everdeen.  Don’t ever step out of line again.”

 

The coldness in her voice makes me shiver, and I nod robotically as Haymitch takes my arm, leading me out of the room.

 

“Haymitch, what did I do?” I ask as he drags me down to the residential section, presumably to look for my father.  “Why does she hate me so much all of a sudden?”

 

“Don’t worry about it right now, Sweetheart,” Haymitch grumbles.  “Let’s just get this done.”

 

* * *

I thought Haymitch was exaggerating a bit when he said we only needed to sign a piece of paper, but he wasn’t.  Marriages in Thirteen really do only consist of the couple in question signing an official form and being assigned a new living compartment.  Since Peeta and I already have an assigned living compartment, the only thing left is to sign the paper.  And Haymitch was right; Mom and Dad agreed to sign for me without question.

 

With Peeta finally able to eat enough calories by mouth to support his ongoing healing process, Dr. Mullins was able to remove his final IV line this afternoon after lunch, the large one in his neck.  Our wedding ceremony was conducted right afterwards, with Peeta scribbling his name on the certificate with his left hand while the cameras rolled.  I signed next, both my maiden name and my new married name, Katniss Mellark.  I had briefly considered keeping my last name, but Dad talked me out of it, much to my surprise.

 

With my father’s and mother’s signatures on the lines for parental permission, Peeta and I were officially married in the eyes of District 13.  I rolled my eyes as the camera crew departed the hospital after it was over, wondering how they would be able to turn a five-minute signing of a piece of paper in a viewable propo.  I would think filming my father, Gale, and the rest of the men leaving for District 2 would be more interesting.

 

Peeta’s always exhausted after his final physical therapy session of the day, so after we eat dinner and I help him shave, we get ready for bed.  Lights out in Thirteen is at 2200 sharp, with exceptions only for the intensive-care unit and a few other locations scattered around the district.  Tiny lights line the grey walls close to the floor, designed to simulate the natural moonlight one might see in the night sky, if in fact one was somewhere where the moon was visible.

 

“There,” Peeta whispers once I crawl into the bed next to him, his arm sliding around my waist.  Now that he’s out of the ICU he can wear regular pajamas instead of the flimsy hospital gowns.  And unlike the stiff twill fabric of the grey Thirteen uniforms, the pajamas are made from a much softer fabric, one that Cinna called seersucker.  “This is much better, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” I say.  I drape my arm across his chest, squeezing him closer to me.  He tightens his arm around me, sending millions of tiny electric shocks through my body.  The night nurse checked on him right before the lights went out, so we should have at least four hours before she comes in again.  We’re truly alone for the first time since he was rescued, and I’m as tightly strung as my bowstring.

 

“Peeta,” I whisper, my cheeks burning.  “Can we… I want… please…?“

 

His lips press softly against my forehead as he sighs.  “Katniss, I can't even hold you properly yet… I can barely move on my own… Don’t you want to wait until—”

 

“No!” I say.  I prop myself up on my elbow, looking into his blue eyes, and I gasp at what I see in their depths.  It’s the same thing I saw on his seventeenth birthday, when, after I presented him with my feeble attempt at a birthday cake, he so tentatively asked if he could kiss me for the first time.  There’s love, so much love it steals the breath from my lungs, but also uncertainty and fear.  The fear of being rejected.

 

_ He thinks I don’t find him handsome anymore. _

 

And I was so worried that Peeta would find my changing body unattractive, when all along, underneath his outward bravado, he was fearing the very same thing.  No wonder he wouldn’t meet my eyes when I helped him with his pajama shirt tonight.  He must’ve thought the deep scars cross-crossing his back repulsed me.  Not to mention his leg, which I haven’t even seen without the bandages yet.

 

“No,” I say again, quieter this time.  I gently trail my fingers along his jaw, across his full lips, before reaching for his left hand and placing it over my breast.  His fingers squeeze reflexively, and his eyes flutter closed as he exhales.  “I don’t want to wait.  Please, Peeta, I want you.  I need you.”

 

He squeezes my breast one more time before wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his body.  “Are you sure, Katniss?  You’ll have to do most of the work, I’m afraid.”

 

I take his face in my hands, pressing a soft kiss to his cheekbone.  “I don’t care.”

 

“Okay,” he whispers, nodding.  He reaches for my braid, pulling the tie off the end and tossing it onto the bedside table.  He slowly unravels the strands until my hair falls loose around my shoulders, then cups my cheek.  I lean into his hand, covering it with my own and closing my eyes.

 

“I love you, Peeta,” I whisper.  “Always.”

 

Dipping his head, he captures my lips with his, molding our mouths together as his fingers tangle into my hair.  I brace my hands on his shoulders, sweeping my tongue along his bottom lip, delighting in his shudder as he parts his lips, letting me in.  Our tongues stroke together, carefully at first, then becoming more greedy as I slide my leg across his lap, moving to straddle him.  I can already feel him responding to me, sending a heady rush of warmth directly to my center.

 

Oh, how I've missed this, how I've missed  _ him! _

 

“Katniss,” Peeta hisses as I grind down onto him, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on his left thigh.  “Oh God, do that again.”

 

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I throw my head back, undulating my hips as his lips find my neck, planting hot, open mouth kisses along the column of my throat.  His casted arm slides around the small of my back, holding me tightly against him as his lips trail across my neck and down to my collarbone.

 

“I would think of you, of touching you like this,” he whispers, his hand working its way under my pajama shirt to palm my bare breast.  He smiles, no doubt noticing the slight increase in size from my pregnancy.  Bunching the shirt up under my arms, he wraps his warm lips around my nipple, flicking it gently with his tongue.  My back arches as I cry out his name, threading my fingers through his thick blond hair, the flames of pleasure licking their way through my body and making me ravenous.

 

“ _ Peeta!” _ I gasp as he kisses across my chest to my other breast, pawing at my shirt with his hand until I get the hint and whip it over my head, tossing it aside.  His rough, heavy cast is digging into my back but I barely feel it, so consumed with my hunger for him and the fire burning within me.

 

“So gorgeous,” he mumbles into my skin before kissing his way back to my mouth.  His tongue plunges between my lips and I moan, grinding down against him and hearing his answering moan in return.  My hands slip under his shirt, sliding across his chest to his sides, my fingertips grazing the edge of the scars on his back when he suddenly shudders, breaking our kiss to cry out.

 

“Peeta!” I say frantically as I snatch my hands away.  “What’d I do?  Did I hurt you?”

 

Holding back a laugh, he shakes his head.  “No, no, love, you didn’t hurt me.”  He takes my hand, placing my palm against his pectoral and covering it with his own, his abdomen tense with suppressed laughter.  “It’s just, your hands are freezing!”

 

“Oh!” I sputter, my heart thumping.  “I’m so sorry!”

 

“It’s okay,” he says, his eyes darkening as they stare into mine.  “It just means I need to warm them, along with the rest of you.”  He pecks me softly on the lips.  “Take off your pants now.  Please?”

 

“Okay,” I whisper, sitting back on the bed to remove my pants and underwear while Peeta takes off his shirt.  I climb back onto his lap, moaning as our bare chests connect.  He jumps slightly as I run my hands across his chest, grinning through our kiss.  “I need you to warm me, Peeta.  I’m cold and empty without you.”

 

“I would dream of holding you like this,” he says, painting my neck and chest with his lips.  “Of touching you, and tasting you.”  He thrusts his hips up and I cry out, his cock hitting me just right even through the fabric of his pajama pants.  “Help me, Katniss. I want to be inside you.”

 

I bring our lips together in another deep kiss before climbing back off his lap.  Peeta digs his heels into the bed, lifting his hips as I slide his pants and underwear down his legs, tossing them somewhere behind me.  I glance briefly down at his mangled left thigh and my throat tightens, but Peeta pulls me back into his lap, pressing our foreheads together.  

 

“Don’t, Katniss,” he says.  “I’m here, and I’m with you.  Concentrate only on that.”

 

Nodding, I try and force the guilt and sorrow back down where it belongs.  “I will,” I murmur.  “I love you.”

 

“And I love you.  Are you ready?”  At my answering nod, his hand slides under my backside, lifting me up as I wrap my fingers around his erection, positioning it between my legs.

 

“Oohh,” I breathe as I sink down onto him, feeling him stretching and filling me.  Completing me.  Peeta throws his head back, biting his bottom lip as his eyes squeeze closed and his fingers dig into my hip.  We sit motionless for several ragged breaths, just reveling in the feel of our connection.

 

It’s been way too long.

 

“Fuck, you feel amazing, Katniss,” he rasps.  “Even better than I remember.”

 

“Peeta,” I moan, lifting my hips slightly and dropping back down, taking him deeper.  I've only heard him swear like that a couple of times, and it was always in response to some stupid prank by his brothers.  But for some reason, it sounds incredibly sexy to me now.

 

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, guiding my movements with his hand on my hip as his lips caress my jaw.  “Just like that.”

 

I give his hair a rough tug before cupping his cheeks, fusing our lips together in a searing kiss as we move together.  Peeta shifts his hips slightly, thrusting up to meet me, and I cry out as he hits that spot within me that makes my toes curl.

 

“Peeta, I need… I need… “.  I’m close, so close to that precipice.  But I want him to fall with me.  I want us to fall together.

 

“I’m gonna come, Katniss,” Peeta moans.  He nudges my chin with his nose.  “Let me see your beautiful neck.”

 

We were only in the cave for less than three days after our toasting, and yet Peeta was able to learn in that short time exactly how to bring me to the brink, to give me as much pleasure as I can take before we explode together.  I dip my head back, and his lips latch onto my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark as his hand slams me down onto his cock.

 

“Peeta!” I cry out as I come, fluttering and clenching around him as he crushes me against his strong body.  I feel the rush of warmth as he comes, the room filled with the sounds of our panting breaths and the smells from our lovemaking.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta whispers.  His fingertips trail up and down my back, the sweaty skin of our chests sticking together as we cling to each other.  “My Katniss.  I love you so.”

 

We stay locked in our embrace until Peeta softens and slips out of me.  With a final kiss to his lips, I lift myself off of him and get us cleaned up a bit before helping him back into his pajamas.

 

“Do you think the nurses heard anything?” I ask as I crawl into the bed next to him.  By either chance or Haymitch’s influence, Peeta’s room is the furthest away from the nurses’ station, so the chances of them overhearing something is a bit less than it could be if we were closer.  But neither of us exactly tried to muffle our sounds all that much either. 

 

“No,” Peeta murmurs.  He presses a light kiss to my forehead.  “And if they did, who cares?”

 

I burrow further into his side.  There was a time when I would’ve been mortified at the thought of being overheard while making love.  But, there was also a time when I was mortified at the thought of making love at all.  Loving Peeta has changed me so much for the better.

 

“I love you,” I whisper, fighting against the pull of sleep to kiss his jaw.

 

“I love you too, Katniss,” he answers.  “Go to sleep.  We won’t be apart ever again.”

 

His sweet words comfort me like a warm blanket, and I kiss him one final time before positioning my head on his chest, hearing the beautiful sound of his heartbeat as we fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had to guess, I'd say there's about 4-5 chapters left. :) 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I very much appreciate your comments! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to DandelionSunset and Titaniasfics for betaing this chapter for me! Both are amazing authors, be sure to check out their stories! :) Also thank you to stjohn27 for brainstorming with me. :)
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who has left me kudos and comments! Your kind words and encouragement mean more to me than you can ever know. :)
> 
> This chapter is rated M for sexual content. There is also quite a bit of medical stuff that takes place. Please feel free to ask me any questions you might have. :)

The bright, artificial light filters through my still-closed eyes as I shift, snuggling closer to Peeta’s warm body, a slight groan of satisfaction escaping my throat.  Peeta's left hand is tucked under the waistband of my pajama pants, resting over my belly, and my limbs have that heavy, leaden feel that you only get after a good night's sleep.  I can't remember the last time I actually slept through the night.

 

Peeta's lips press against the top of my head as he inhales.  “Good morning, love.”

 

“Mmm,” I mumble, tightening my arm that’s thrown across his broad chest.  “Morning.”

 

He chuckles as he gently nudges my forehead with his nose.  “I want to kiss you, Katniss.  Before the nurse comes in.”

 

Smiling, I tilt my head as his lips find mine, any self-consciousness I might’ve had about my morning breath lost as he wraps his casted right arm around me, holding me in place until we're both breathless.  

 

“That’s a great way to start the day,” he whispers.  He brushes soft kisses across my cheekbone and chuckles again.  “Your cheek looks like my pajama shirt.”

 

I smile even wider as I bring my hand to my cheek, feeling the square pattern from Peeta's shirt pressed into my skin.  “I can't remember the last time that I slept so well.”

 

“Me either,” Peeta says, softly kissing my nose.  “No nightmares.  I don’t think I even dreamt.”

 

We’re just leaning in for another kiss when there’s a knock at the door.  It must be time for his morning nursing checkup.  Peeta sighs and shrugs, pecking my nose again before I slide off the bed and head into the small bathroom.  

 

“You look so good this morning, Peeta!” I hear the nurse exclaim through the closed bathroom door.  “So well rested and vigorous!  Getting out of the ICU must be agreeing with you.”

 

“Yeah, I think it helped a lot,” Peeta replies.  “It’s definitely much quieter down here.”

 

The nurse lowers her voice, and I nearly choke on my mouthful of toothpaste at her next words.  “I’ll bet it's nice having your missus so much closer as well, hmm?”

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Peeta says without missing a beat, and I can just picture the look of pure innocence on his face.  “She’s been a huge boost to my recovery.”

 

“Well, I’m so happy to see you doing so well,” she says.  “Dr. Mullins will be by after breakfast, and I’m sure he'll want to discuss when you can be discharged.  With how well you’re improving, it shouldn’t be much longer now.”  I hear her footsteps heading for the door.  “I'll bring your breakfast down in a few minutes.”

 

“Thank you!” Peeta calls after her.  I hear the door to his room click shut, then count to ten before emerging from the bathroom to find Peeta smirking at me.

 

“Well, maybe they did hear something last night,” he says with a wink.

 

“Stop it,” I say, blushing as I help him sit up, sliding his legs over the side of the bed.  “I don’t want to think about that now.”

 

Peeta drapes his good arm across my shoulders as he stands to his feet, leaning down to whisper into my ear.  “I hope you don't think about it tonight, either.”

 

The warmth in my cheeks intensifies, spreading down my neck into my chest.  “No, I won’t,” I murmur.  “I think we could both use some more nights of sleep like last night.”

 

“That’s good,” he whispers, nipping lightly at my earlobe.  “Maybe we can even try a different position tonight, so you’re not stuck doing all the work again.”

 

“I don’t mind, Peeta,” I say.  I look up into his eyes, dark blue even in the bright light of the hospital room.  “As long as—“ I pause, clearing my throat.  I’ve never been comfortable talking about this stuff, not even with Peeta.  “As long as… we can be close like that… I don’t really mind how.”

 

Peeta lets out a low growl, dipping his head to capture my lips.  “You just wait, love.  Once I have both of my hands again… ”  He kisses across my jaw to my neck, brushing his lips and tongue over the love bite he left there last night.  “Not too much longer now.”

 

“Peeta,” I gasp, throwing my head back.  My knees buckle, nearly bringing us both to the floor.  Peeta's able to catch us just in time.  “Oh… “

 

“We better stop, love, before we get carried away,” he whispers.  “The nurse will be back any minute, and I’d rather not have an obvious hard-on when she gets here.”

 

“Yeah,” I say, dazed as I tighten my arm around his waist.  I help him hobble into the bathroom, sitting him down on the special seat next to the sink and handing him his toothbrush.  I lean against the opposite wall while he brushes his teeth and close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.  He always talks about the effect I have on him, but I think his effect on me is even stronger.  Lately it seems like just one look from him has me nearly bursting out of my skin.

 

And Peeta keeps his promise.  Almost as soon as the door closes behind his final nursing check for the evening, he pulls me close, crushing his mouth to mine.  Our clothes are shed in what feels like seconds, and he has me begging him to take me only minutes later.  This time he curls his body around me, lifting my leg over his thigh as he enters me from behind.  My head falls back against his shoulder as his lips caress my neck and jaw, his good hand splayed protectively across my belly.

 

“You’re so fucking perfect, Katniss,” he says, his voice rough with lust as he thrusts into me.  “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

 

“Peeta,” I moan, bringing his hand up to cover my breast.  His strong fingers knead my flesh as if it’s bread dough.  “You—, you’re—.”

 

“I can't get enough of you,” he pants in my ear as I gasp in time with his thrusts.  “You feel too fucking good.  I’m so close, love.  Come with me.“

 

“Peeta!” I cry as he shifts slightly, hitting that secret spot inside me at the same time as his hand slips down between my legs.  My back arches away from him as my climax overtakes me, wave after wave of a pleasure so strong I feel as if I might drown in its depths.  I barely hear him cry out my name as he comes, pulsing inside me until he's spent.

 

We lay locked together for a long time, reveling in the immense power of our connection.  Peeta finally raises his head, trailing his lips across my cheek.  “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he whispers, placing his hand over my belly.

 

Tears fill my eyes, spilling over my lids and down my cheeks at his sweet words.  He knows me so well it's almost scary sometimes.  After my father’s disappearance and my mother's deep depression that nearly killed Prim and me, I swore that I would never fall in love, never have a family of my own.  That way, I would never have to deal with the possibility of losing them.

 

But Peeta changed all of that.  He was so patient with me, all those years when I insisted that I only wanted him as a friend, that I was never going to get married, never going to have children.  I don’t know if he somehow knew that I’d change my mind after I admitted that I loved him or what, but I'll never forget the look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face the day he asked me to toast with him and I accepted.   We had to wait, of course, until my eighteenth birthday, but from that day on we started to make plans.  And slowly, with his help and encouragement, I came around to the idea of someday having our own family.  Our toasting was planned for the day after I turned eighteen.  Then we would graduate from school, find work, and start a family a few years down the road, after we had some time to ourselves first.

 

And then, after Peeta’s reappearance and recovery, and then us having to flee both Twelve and the camp, I never even dreamed we would conceive during our time in the cave.  I barely gave the possibility a fleeting thought before we consummated our toasting.

 

And now, despite President Coin’s optimism that the war could be over soon, it's likely that our daughter will have to be born here, in District 13.  With Twelve in ruins, it doesn't seem possible that we’d be able to make it home before she’s due.  As wary as I once was about having children, I never dreamed that they would be born anywhere except Twelve.

 

“Peeta,” I say, sounding like a small child.  “I want to go home.”

 

Turning me so I can face him, Peeta brushes the tears from my cheeks before leaning down to kiss me tenderly.  “We will, Katniss.  Once all of this is over, we will.  I promise.  If I have to build us a house myself, I'll do it.”

 

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his head down to rest against my chest, running my fingers through his downy curls.  “I know you would,” I whisper.  “But let’s hope you don’t have to.”

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, our reprieve from the nightmares doesn't last.  Dr. Mullins informs us that as long as Peeta continues to improve, he can be discharged by the end of the week, so Peeta starts to push himself extra hard during his therapy sessions at the same time as his pain meds are being weaned.  The combination leaves him tired, grumpy, and in pain by day’s end, which then leads to nightmares.  Every couple of hours he wakes up, thrashing and crying out, his pajamas soaked through with sweat.  The nurses offer him sleeping pills but he refuses, saying he doesn’t want to take anymore drugs.  We try easing back off on his therapy, and I start singing him to sleep every night.  It helps a little, but he still holds me so tight that it’s hard to breathe sometimes, and I sleep fitfully, as if I’m anticipating his next nightmare.

 

My own nightmares start back up as well, as if they’re trying to keep Peeta’s company.  I see him ripped from my arms, taken away again by Ellipses.  I see him killed by Peacekeeper Drake before I’m dragged away from my home back in Twelve.  I see him not as Peeta but as Soldier Eighteen, throwing me into the pit instead of Rye.

 

One of my dreams begins in the bakery.  It’s a Friday afternoon, the time when his mother is out running errands in the district.  Peeta’s showing me how to roll out dough for cookies, his large hands resting over mine on the handles of the rolling pin.  He’s standing behind me, leaning over me as we press out the dough.  I can feel his warm breath against the back of my neck, sending shivers up and down my spine.  This was not long before he was taken.

 

After we cut out the cookies, Peeta arranges them on the cookie sheet and moves over to the large oven.  As he opens the heavy door, a burst of flame suddenly shoots out of the oven, disappearing back inside almost as quickly as it came.  Peeta slams the door closed, then opens it again slowly, trying to gauge the problem.  It’s not uncommon for the oven fire to act up occasionally, but I know Mr. Mellark is meticulous about making sure his ovens are clean to ensure proper baking conditions.  The only time I’ve ever seen anything burnt in this bakery were the two loaves of bread Peeta threw to me when I was eleven.

 

Peeta peeks over the top of the oven door, likely assessing the condition of the fire.  “It looks fine to me,” he says, smiling at me reassuringly.  “Must’ve just gotten some air inside or something.”

 

I see it almost in slow motion.  As soon as the door lowers completely, a huge flame bursts from the oven, violently shooting out sparks and soot.  The force of the blast knocks Peeta backwards into the prep table, his eyebrows and hair singed as sparks continue to shower him from the now open oven.  I scream his name, holding out my arms, trying to reach him so I can pull him out of the way, but my feet are frozen to the floor.  One of the falling sparks ignites his apron, burning its way through the protective fabric until there’s nothing left except ashes.  His clothes are next, curling into jagged pieces as they burn away from his body, exposing his pale skin.  I’m screaming so hard now my throat feels singed, but I’m still unable to move, unable to get him to safety.  I can only watch, helplessly, as he’s burned alive, right in front of me.

 

I awake with a start, gasping for breath as my eyes take in the somewhat familiar surroundings of Peeta's hospital room.  I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of the horrible images.  I haven’t had a nightmare this bad since before Peeta was rescued.

 

I inhale a deep breath, breathing it out slowly.  Peeta's right here, his arm is across my waist as usual and my head is tucked under his chin.  He’s still sleeping; at least my nightmare didn’t wake him.  And I’m not cold, for a change.  In fact, I’m as warm as a summer day back in Twelve.  It’s as if I’m lying on my own personal coal stove.

 

I slowly breathe in again, trying to calm my racing heart, pressing my ear more firmly against Peeta's chest so I can better hear the comforting sound of his heartbeat.  He’s dreaming too; his heart is beating faster than normal, and his arm is holding me tightly against his side.

 

Closing my eyes, I tilt my head up to kiss the underside of his jaw.  But as soon as my lips touch his skin, I pull back with a loud cry.  His skin is burning hot, and as dry as stale bread.  

 

“Peeta?” I gasp, shaking his chest.  He doesn’t respond. “Peeta!” I say again, shaking him harder.  Nothing.  I lightly slap his face.  Still nothing.  I touch the back of my hand against his forehead and draw it back immediately, panic setting in as I realize what’s happening.

 

Peeta is burning with fever.

 

Lifting the dead weight of his arm off of me, I slide off the bed to press the call button for the nurses’ station as I touch my fingers to Peeta's flushed neck, feeling for his pulse.  He’s so hot, so much hotter than he ever was back in Twelve when he was first found in the woods, I can't believe he’s even still breathing.

 

“Can I help you?” comes the voice from the nurses’ station through the intercom speaker.  

 

“Please, hurry!” I cry.  “Peeta’s got a fever… he’s unconscious… I can't get him to wake up!”

 

The intercom clicks off without another word, and not three seconds later I hear the pounding of footsteps down the hall.  I barely have time to turn towards the door before it flies open so hard that it bangs against the opposite wall.

 

“Move out of the way,” commands a nurse, pushing a wheeled cart into the room.  I back away until I’m pressed against the back wall, still calling Peeta’s name, begging him to wake up.  The nurse shoves Peeta’s shirt up to his neck, placing her stethoscope down on his chest as the on-call doctor rushes through the door, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  Another nurse appears at Peeta’s side, slipping a blood-pressure cuff around his good arm.

 

“Heart rate is 165 and erratic, Doctor,” says the female nurse.  She slides a small device across Peeta’s forehead.  “And temp is 105.2.”

 

“BP is 190/110,” the male nurse announces, his voice grim.

 

“He’s in septic shock!” calls the doctor.  He starts attaching wires to Peeta's chest.  “Get a cooling blanket.  Prep cultures and start two large-bore IVs.  Hang fluids and start antibiotics once the cultures are taken.”  He turns to me, as if noticing for the first time that I'm in the room.  “What happened to him?”

 

Tears stream down my face as I shake my head.  “We were just sleeping!” I choke out.  “I had a nightmare about a fire in his bakery, and I woke up and found him burning up in my arms.”  My voice is rising hysterically, my knees buckling as I watch the two nurses poking at Peeta’s arm, trying to get his IV started.  He’s not even flinching at the needle sticks; it's as if he’s already dead.  “Why is this happening to him?”

 

“We don’t know exactly, but you need to leave the room,” the doctor snaps as he turns on a heart monitor, filling the room with its incessant beeping.

 

“No!” I cry.  “I can't leave him, I need to stay with him!”

 

“Get her out of here!” yells the doctor, jamming a needle into Peeta’s neck.  “And get Dr. Mullins down here!”

 

“You need to leave, Mrs. Mellark,” says one of the nurses, I’m not even sure which one.  “Right now!”

 

“No!  Please, no!” I scream, my eyes fixed on my husband’s motionless body.  “Peeta!  Wake up!  Please, wake up!”

 

The next thing I know I’m being lifted off my feet and carried out into the hallway, with the door closing in my face.  I scream as I pound on the door, watching the doctor and nurses through the tiny window as they work on Peeta, their brows furrowed in concentration.  Bags of fluids are pumped through his newly started IVs, three more monitors are hooked up to various parts of his body.  I can't be sure, but I think his heart even stops.  

 

Dr. Mullins finally appears, his lab coat unbuttoned and his white hair in disarray as he enters Peeta’s room.  Plutarch and Haymitch are following closely behind him, both looking like they were dragged out of bed.

 

Something in me snaps as my eyes land on Plutarch Heavensbee’s face, his expression smug even in the wee hours of the morning.  “You!  What did you do to him!” I cry, lunging at the former Head Trainer.  Haymitch is able to catch me just in time, pinning my arms against my sides to prevent me from wrapping my hands around Plutarch’s throat.

 

“Try and calm down, Sweetheart,” Haymitch starts.  “We don’t know—“

 

But it's as if I've gone mad.  My heart is racing, my limbs shaking uncontrollably, my vision blurring in and out.  “He did something to Peeta!  He’s trying to kill him, I know it!  I know he’s trying to kill him!  Haymitch, why is he trying to kill him?”

 

“No one's trying to kill anybody!” Haymitch yells over my screaming.  His shoulders sag in relief as Prim suddenly appears from around the corner, dressed in her medical intern uniform.  “Oh thank God!  Can you give Sweetheart here something to calm her down?”

 

Prim shakes her head.  “She can’t have anything that could hurt the baby,” she says, her voice forceful.  She presses her palms to my cheeks, holding my head still.  “Katniss, look at me!”

 

Something in her voice, the voice of my beloved sister, the one person besides Peeta who completely understands me, is able to bring me back from the brink.  My knees give way as I slump against Haymitch’s chest.  “Prim!” I sputter.  “What’s happening to Peeta?”

 

“I don’t know yet, Katniss,” she says evenly, like she’s talking to a small child.  “I need to go into his room and find out.  But I need you to calm down first.  You’re not doing Peeta any good like this.  Whatever is happening, you need to be strong for him, and your baby.  All right?”

 

My chin is quivering so badly my teeth are chattering.  My hand moves automatically to my abdomen.  “Okay,” I sob.  “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Prim says.  She kisses my forehead and nods at Haymitch.  “I’ll go and see what I can find out.”

 

As soon as the door closes behind her Haymitch drags me over to the wall, propping me up against it on the floor.  I bring my knees to my chest, pressing my knuckles against my mouth, digging my teeth into my skin as the minutes pass in agonizing fashion.  Plutarch paces back and forth, stopping to peek through the window every few passes, that ever-present smirk plastered on his face.  If it wasn’t for Haymitch’s arm around my shoulders, I’d try and scratch that smirk right off of him.

 

_Please, please, don’t let him die!  I can’t lose my boy with the bread!_

 

It seems like hours later when Prim finally opens the door, holding it open as Peeta’s bed is wheeled out of the room.  “Peeta!” I cry as he’s wheeled past me, covered in so many wires and tubes I can barely make out any of his skin.

 

“They’re taking him back to the ICU, Katniss,” Prim says, sighing.  Strands of hair have worked themselves loose from her thick, blonde braid, and her pale skin is flushed from exertion.  “We managed to stabilize him.”

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Haymitch asks.  “I thought he was almost ready to be discharged.”

 

“He was,” Prim replies.  “He was doing fine, recovering ahead of schedule, his therapy was coming along well.  This seems to have come out of nowhere.”  She turns to me, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.  “We’ll know more once the cultures and tests come back.”

 

My chest is heaving, each breath a struggle to draw in.  “When can I see him?”

 

Prim shakes her head.  “You can’t, Katniss.  At least not yet.  He’ll be isolation until we figure out what’s wrong with him, with full contact precautions.  No one can enter his room without a complete scrub-down, and the chemicals we use to scrub down are dangerous for the baby.  As it is I'll have to take a blood sample from you, to make sure you’re not infected with whatever’s causing Peeta’s illness.”

 

I let out a sob, pressing my palm over my rounded belly.  “How long will it take?”

 

“Like I said, we’ll know more when the tests come back,” Prim says.  She pulls me into a hug, patting my back.  “He’s made it this far, Katniss.  We’re not going to let him get away from us now.”

 

I draw in a shaky breath, nodding against her shoulder.  “Can I at least look at him?  Please?”

 

“Yeah, I suppose we can do that after I get your sample,” Prim admits.  “But I need to warn you, Katniss.  He looks pretty bad right now.  Are you sure you can handle it?”  

 

“I can handle it,” I whisper, my lower lip quivering.

 

“All right.”  As soon as she’s done drawing my blood, she wraps her arm around my shoulders, leading me down towards the ICU.  When Plutarch starts to follow is, she turns her head to glare at him.  “There will be no cameras present around Peeta or Katniss at any time without my permission.  Do you understand me?”

 

Plutarch looks taken aback, but holds up his hands in acquiescence.  “Understood.”

 

By the time we reach the ICU, Prim is practically holding me up, with Haymitch behind us offering his silent support.  Prim leads us into an anteroom next to Peeta’s room, where the doctors and nurses complete their scrub-downs before entering his actual room.  I gasp as I see him through the large window.  His skin is so pale it’s almost indistinguishable from the stark white hospital bedding, and he’s covered in wires and tubes that are hooked up to various monitors.  His chest is rising and falling in time with the programmed breaths from the ventilator next to his bed.

 

“Peeta,” I whisper, pressing my palm against the glass that separates us.  “Please, wake up!”

 

“It’s better for him to be sedated right now, Katniss,” my sister says.  “He was trying to fight the ventilator, but he’s not strong enough to breathe on his own.  This is better for now.”

 

“I need to stay here with him,” I say.  “I need to be as close to him as possible, if I can’t be with him.”

 

Prim glances at Haymitch, who cocks his head, thinking.  “We can arrange that,” he says, looking around the small anteroom.  There’s a sink in one corner, and a separate bathroom with a shower.  “We can have a small cot brought in for you, and hang a curtain to give you some privacy.  But I’m afraid you’ll have doctors and nurses coming in at all hours, Sweetheart.  We can’t do anything about that.”

 

“I don’t care,” I mumble.  I rub my eyes, scratchy with tears and fatigue.  “I just need to be near him.”

 

“Then I want you to make sure you actually rest, Katniss,” Prim says sternly.  “You need to take care of your baby.  You know that’s what Peeta would want.”

 

She’s right.  Peeta would absolutely place the lives of both me and our baby above his own.  “Yeah, I know.”

 

“Then be sure and do it,” she says.  “Or I won’t let you stay in here.”

 

At my answering nod, Plutarch and Haymitch both exit the room to make the arrangements, and soon there’s a curtain set up dividing the room in half and a cot placed against the wall next to the window.  It’s close enough where I can see Peeta as soon as I sit up.

 

“I know you think you won’t be able to sleep,” Prim says after I’ve crawled under the thin blankets.  “But try anyway. For your baby’s sake.”

 

I bite my bottom lip as I nod.  “I’ll try.”

 

“Good.  I’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.”  She grasps my hand. “He’s getting the best care possible, Katniss.”

 

“I know.  Thank you.”  

 

Prim nods again, smoothing my hair back before leaving the room.  I turn my head into the small pillow, wrapping my arms around my belly as sobs wrack my body.

 

_Please, Peeta, don’t leave us!  We need you!_

 

* * *

 

I jerk awake on the tiny cot, reeling from my latest nightmare as I push myself up so I can peek through the glass.  Peeta’s still there, the heart monitor beeping in rhythm with the beating of his heart, his chest rising and falling with the artificial breaths from the ventilator.  

 

There’s been little change in his condition over the past two days, but I haven’t left this room once, not even for meals.  My sister’s been bringing my food here for me, and I’ve been forcing myself to eat for our baby’s sake, even though every single bite tastes like old straw.

 

I watch through itchy eyes as one of Peeta’s nurses prepares to enter his room for the shift change.  The contact precaution preparation is ridiculously long and complicated, so complicated that the on-duty nurse just remains in Peeta’s room with him for the entire shift, save for the three mandated breaks.  Anyone entering the room must first change their clothing into a special set of disposable scrubs, tuck their hair under a sterile cap, and scrub any remaining skin with a special antibacterial soap that kills any germs present on the skin’s surface.  It’s as if they’re prepping for surgery every time they check on him.

 

I look up as Prim walks in, carrying my breakfast tray and shaking her head at my appearance.  “Did you sleep at all, Katniss?”

 

“I tried, Prim,” I mumble as I run a hand through my greasy hair.  “I did.  It’s just… everytime I close my eyes, all I see is Peeta lying there, almost dead.”

 

Her eyebrows knit together as she sits down next to me on the cot, picking a handful of my hair and letting it drop against my back.  “Well, let’s at least wash your hair before the meeting, okay?”

 

“Sure.”  I could really care less about my appearance, but since President Coin will be at the meeting, I should probably look a bit more put together than I feel.

 

After I choke down the bland food and Prim helps me shower, wash, and braid my hair, I dress in a new set of the rough grey clothes and pull on my shoes.  My mom brought me new pants with a stretchy panel in the front yesterday, but until now I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas since Peeta got sick.

 

“Ready?” she asks once I finish tying my shoes.

 

I look through the window at Peeta, bringing my fingers to my lips and pressing them against the glass.  It’s the only way I can kiss him right now.

 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

 

We’re quiet as we make our way to Command, where Dr. Mullins is waiting to discuss the results of all the tests they’ve been doing on Peeta over the last two days.  I can’t help but be scared of how bad the news will be, especially since the doctor felt the need to call a meeting with the district president to discuss his condition instead of just speaking with me privately.

 

Beetee, Plutarch, Haymitch, Finnick, my mother, and President Coin are already there when we arrive.  Prim had asked to have my father brought back from his mission to Two after Peeta got sick, but her request was denied by Coin, who said there was no need for him to return since my tests showed that I was fine.

 

Coin looks up as we enter, glaring at me.  “You are tardy, Miss Everdeen.”

 

“It’s Mrs. Mellark now,” I snap.  “And I thought you’d appreciate me not showing up in my pajamas.”

 

Coin’s head snaps back as if she’s been slapped, and her grey eyes narrow dangerously as Dr. Mullins clears his throat.  “Um, shall we begin, since we’re all here?”

 

Plastering a fake smile on her face, Coin turns to the doctor.  “Yes, please.”

 

Dr. Mullins nods towards Beetee.  “I’ll let Mr. Latier begin, if that’s all right with everyone.”

 

As heads bob in agreement, Beetee clears his throat.  “All right,” he starts.  “Let me begin by saying that this is all going to sound quite horrible.”  He looks straight at me, his brown eyes filled with sympathy.  “It’s going to sound like a death sentence, Katniss.  But I promise you, we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that it’s not.  Okay?”

 

My throat constricts as I nod, clutching my sister’s hand.  “Okay.”

 

Beetee leans forward in his chair, pushing his black glasses up his nose.  “So.  You’ve all heard the story about the genesis of the Ellipses program, correct?  At first, the soldiers were culled from district volunteers, mainly from the districts closest to the Capitol.  One and Two.”

 

I nod, remembering when Plutarch went over this information right after we arrived here in Thirteen.  “Plutarch told us all of this.”

 

“Ah yes, I remember,” Beetee says, his lips curving into a slight smile.  “And, as you know, Antonius soon decided that there weren’t enough suitable volunteers to go through the training, so he began reaping people from the districts and training them by force.”

 

I swallow hard, squeezing Prim’s hand.  “Yes.”

 

“Yes.  Well, what we’ve recently discovered, in an obscure file hidden deep in the Ellipses training database, is information discussing what Antonius refers to as ‘the failsafe’.”  He huffs out a breath, shaking his head.  “You know the three dots next to Peeta’s and Rye’s left ears?  The Ellipses symbol?”

 

“Yes,” I whisper in a shaky voice.  “Those three dots were on all the soldiers that tried to kill us, too.”

 

Beetee winces.  “Yes, those.  At first they appeared to just be tattooed into the skin, almost like a brand.  But from what we’ve discovered, they are much more than just simple markings.”

 

A heavy silence settles over the room as Beetee pauses.  “So, what are they?” Finnick asks.  His green eyes are serious, the most serious I’ve ever seen.

 

“They’re not tattoos,” Beetee says grimly.  “They’re implants.  Tiny implants filled with a genetically engineered bacteria, that’s kept dormant as long as the subject is given regular doses of tracker jacker venom.”

 

“What?” I gasp.  My skin prickles as I break into a cold sweat.  “So, you mean… “

 

“That as long as the soldier completed his or her missions and returned to the Training Center as programmed, he or she would be fine,” Plutarch says.  “But, if a soldier broke mission and didn’t return, or a trainee tried to escape, as soon as the venom had worked its way out of their system, they would go into shock and die.”  He shakes his head; he’s not even smirking.  “Antonius viewed it as a security precaution.  And he was so paranoid about security, even within the Training Center, that he was the only person who implanted these devices.  Even I, as Head Trainer, thought they were only tattoos.”

 

“But you said that there was still traces of venom in Peeta’s system,” Prim says, looking at Dr. Mullins.  “If that’s true, why did this happen now?”

 

“Both of the Mellark brothers appear to be slow metabolizers of the venom, which is likely something that Minister Antonius didn’t count on.  Technically, Peeta’s implants shouldn’t have activated yet.  Our theory is that due to the severity of his injuries, his immune system simply became overwhelmed.  We also believe the strong antibiotics with which he was treated were able to suppress the bacteria in the implants for the time he was being treated, until the drugs were completely metabolized.”

 

“Okay, then can’t you just put him back on the antibiotics?” asks Haymitch.  “And we better check on Rye too, if we know that this is coming.”

 

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” says Beetee.  He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as he glances at Plutarch.  “The bacteria in the implants aren’t what cause the real problem.  They’re a vehicle for a virus, a very virulent virus that, once released, attacks and destroys the bone marrow, essentially destroying the patient’s immune system.  And unfortunately, once the immune system is destroyed, there’s no way for it to be brought back without major medical intervention.  As it is, we’re barely able to keep Peeta alive with our conventional therapies.”

 

I can’t speak, can barely think as Beetee’s words reverberate through my head.   _Peeta’s immune system is destroyed.  He is going to die._

 

“So, then we use these major medical interventions, whatever they are, and bring him back,” Haymitch says.  “Why is this even a question?”

 

Dr. Mullins looks at President Coin.  “Because there’s no way we can treat Peeta appropriately with the medicines and technology that we have here, in Thirteen.  In order for him to be treated with any hope for long-term survival, we’d have to take him to the Capitol.”

 

My eyes widen in shock at the doctor’s grim words, and I manage to find my voice.  “But you told me that your medical technology was advanced!”

 

“I said it was advanced for a rather isolated society, Mrs. Mellark,” retorts Dr. Mullins.  “I’ve already checked the records, and there hasn’t been a case of complete immune system failure in all of Panem since way before the Dark Days.  No current medicines exist to cure this problem.  Right now, our only hope is supportive care.”

 

“Until we can get Peeta to the Capitol,” Prim says.  “Peeta and Rye both, since you said it’ll happen to him too.”

 

“I can't imagine why it wouldn’t,” says Beetee.  “Rye has the implants too.  The only reason why he’s still okay is because he’s still metabolizing the venom, and he doesn't have the severe injuries like his brother.  But I’m afraid the only way we'd be able to get the two of them to the Capitol would be for us to win the war.”

 

“The war might be over sooner than you think, Mr. Latier,” says Coin, tapping her ever-present pencil.  “I have full confidence that our rebel troops will soon make our victory over the Capitol complete, now that the Nut has been destroyed.”

 

“I've started Rye on the antibiotics as a precaution, and I removed his implants this morning after he was sedated,” says Dr. Mullins.  “But I’m afraid we have no way of knowing if his bone marrow has already been infected until we’re able to biopsy it.”

 

“But if his bone marrow is still intact,” Prim says.  “Couldn't we harvest a small amount from him and give it to Peeta?”  Several pairs of eyes turn to her in surprise.  “I read about it in one of the old medical books here, when I started working in the hospital.  Way back, people used to do these things called bone marrow transplants for situations just like this.  I’m sure the Capitol would have records.”

 

Dr. Mullins tilts his head, pondering.  “It would be quite difficult,” he says.  “We would have to wait until the precise moment that Rye’s body has cleared the venom before we obtain consent.  Then we would have to ensure that his bone marrow isn’t already damaged.”  He huffs in frustration.  “And even then, we would have to obtain the tissue, make sure it is compatible with Peeta, and process it for transplant, and we don’t even have the required technology to complete these tasks.”

 

“What do you mean by consent?” I ask.  “Consent for what?”

 

Prim looks at me, her brow furrowing.  “Consent from Rye for the procedure, Katniss.  We can't just go digging around in his hip for bone marrow without his consent.”

 

My mouth drops open.  Of course I understand what consent means; my mother used to discuss treatment options with her patients all the time back in Twelve.  But what if Rye’s not of sound enough mind to give it?  Or worse, if he refuses?

 

“But—“ I start.

 

“That is non-negotiable, Mrs. Mellark,” Dr. Mullins says firmly, looking down at me over his half-moon glasses.  “I will not order any non-emergency procedure on Rye Mellark without his explicit, informed consent.  A bone marrow harvest is a major medical procedure that carries risks.  It’s not as simple as taking a blood sample.  As it is, we’ve had to keep him sedated to give him the antibiotics.  He kept pulling the IV lines out while he was awake.”

 

“But maybe once his body has cleared the venom,” Prim says, squeezing my hand.  “He might be closer to his real self after that.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

“While Peeta lies there, only inches from death!” I cry, the tears I've been choking back finally breaking free.  “None of this is his fault!  He didn’t ask to be torn from his home in the middle of the night.  He didn’t ask to be programmed into a robotic killer.  He didn’t ask for any of this, and yet he’s constantly being punished for it!”

 

“Rye didn’t ask for it either, Katniss,” my mother suddenly pipes up, startling me with her soft but clear voice.  “He’s just as much of a victim as Peeta.”  She reaches for my other hand across the table.  “And I know if you weren’t so upset, and so worried for Peeta, you’d be able to see that.”

 

I clamp my mouth shut.  My mother obviously thinks more of me than I do.  But her words cause my heart to clench.  Peeta knew Rye was just as much of a victim as he was.  And he’d want us to do everything we could to save Rye from his fate.

 

Finnick clears his throat.  “Just so I understand.  Peeta’s implants have already released this virus that’s attacked his bone marrow.”

 

“Yes, that’s correct,” says Dr. Mullins.

 

“But Rye hasn’t yet fallen ill,” Finnick says.

 

The doctor shakes his head.  “No, not yet. But we feel it's only a matter of time.  The antibiotics might slow down the process, but they are not a viable long-term solution.”

 

“Even though you removed Rye’s implants?” asks Haymitch.  “Wouldn’t removing them also remove the bacteria containing the virus?”

 

“Not necessarily,” says Prim.  “Even if only one bacterial cell managed to stay behind in Rye’s body, we wouldn’t be able to find it until it started to multiply and release the virus.”

 

My head is spinning trying to keep up with all this medical talk.  “So, what exactly do we need to do?” I blurt out.  “How can we save Peeta?  And Rye?”

 

“What we need is for Rye’s body to clear the rest of his venom.  Once that’s complete, we can assess his mental state, and determine if he’s fit to consent to a bone marrow harvest.”  Dr. Mullins shifts in his chair, looking at me sympathetically. “But as I said, Mrs. Mellark, we do not have the required technology here in Thirteen to process and transplant bone marrow.  We would have to transport Peeta, or preferably both men to the Capitol for any transplant to take place.”

 

My chin quivers as I turn to President Coin.  “You said we’re close to winning the war?”

 

“I believe I said we’re closer than you might think, Miss Ever—, Mrs. Mellark,” Coin says.  “But we have not yet won, and I cannot currently give you a concrete timetable.  The Capitol is reeling from the loss of the Nut, but its leaders are… stubborn, as you know.”

 

“We can keep Peeta alive with supportive care,” Prim says.  “I’ll line up people to donate blood to replenish the antibodies he can no longer produce on his own, and we can support his organ systems with the medicines that we have available.  The virus that destroyed his bone marrow has already almost cleared his system, so we won't have to worry about it too much longer.  We can keep him alive, Katniss.  As long as we need to.”

 

But I barely register my sister’s words, meant to be comforting.  I only hear what she’s not saying out loud.  We can keep Peeta alive for as long as it takes.  But during that time I won't be able to touch him, or even go near him.  I can’t enter his hospital room without putting our baby at risk, and I know without a doubt Peeta would choose his child’s life over his own.  We’ll be separated yet again, only this time not by the many miles between here and the Capitol, but by only three inches of protective glass.

 

It will be a new kind of torture for us both.

 

“Very well,” Coin says, tapping her pencil as she checks the writing on her forearm.  I swipe at my eyes, fighting the urge to snatch the damn pencil out of her hand and snap it in half.  “Do what needs to be done.”

 

There’s a chorus of “yes ma’ams” as she rises from her chair and exits the room.  The rest of us remain, as if we’re glued to our seats, unable to move.

 

Prim is the first to regain her senses.  “Okay,” she commands.  “Who would like to sign up to donate blood?”

 

* * *

 

_A COMPLICATION HAS ARISEN.  NEGOTIATIONS MUST BE ACCELERATED._

 

_Carter leans back in his chair, steepling his hands under his chin as he grins.  He’s not sure what complication Thirteen is referring to, but the fact that one exists can only push the odds in his favor._

 

_WHAT SORT OF COMPLICATION?_

 

_He peeks over the edge of his monitor as he waits for the response, noting that Felix is still working on the program Carter assigned him earlier this morning.  It’s a busywork assignment, designed only to keep the junior Trainer out of Carter’s hair as he finalizes his plan._

 

_The plan is a rather simple one, really.  Upon completion of the extensive security check on the remaining trainers, Antonius ordered three of them to be executed and two more to be exiled beyond the Capitol’s borders.  Out of the original staff of nine trainers, only Felix and Carter remain.  Following the trainer purge, Carter was able to convince Antonius to keep the Training Center open for one more week.  The official excuse that he gave was so that Carter could back up any files that he deemed important, in case the Ellipses program was ever rebooted.  But the real reason was so that Carter could transfer any files relevant to Ellipses to his home workstation, so he could use them during the negotiation process with Thirteen._

 

_Carter has also been using this time to plan the Minister’s assassination.  He bribed Antonius’s butler just yesterday to allow Carter entrance into his personal quarters, where he was able to swap out Antonius’s blood pressure medications for placebo pills.  From Carter’s understanding of the precariousness of Antonius’s health, it should only be a matter of a couple weeks before his blood pressure rises to such levels as to cause a fatal cerebral event._

 

_ELLIPSES.  BOTH SUBJECTS IN DANGER OF BEING LOST.  ELLIPSES FILE 1578.55 SECTION F.2 WILL EXPLAIN._

 

_Carter raises his eyebrows, never having heard mention of such a file.  Interesting, but not exactly surprising._

 

_STAND BY._

 

_Pulling up the main Ellipses database on his monitor, he attempts to find the file using his username and password, which, as he expects, is unsuccessful.  Grinning, he pushes up his glasses and flexes his fingers.  He always enjoys a good, old-fashioned hack._

 

_Five minutes later he’s reading the file, his eyes widening in shock at the blatant audacity of Minister Antonius.  The man is really the most paranoid human Carter has ever met.  And yet, Carter can’t help but admire him to a point.  Antonius was able to run Ellipses for many years directly under the nose of the late President Snow.  You don’t accomplish that, no matter how oblivious Snow was to the general goings-on around him, without being at least somewhat clever._

 

_“Hmm,” Carter mumbles, tapping his chin as he peeks again to make sure Felix is still occupied.  This complication will absolutely tip the odds in his favor.  If it were up to him, he’d be just as well to let both soldiers die off.  Then he could bury the traces of the program for good and allow a new program to be developed without the various difficulties and complications that plagued Ellipses.  Carter’s own idea, to choose two young people from each district at random every year to participate in the new program, has so far been rejected by Thirteen.  Perhaps this complication will be enough to force him to change his mind._

 

_PROPOSED SOLUTION?_

 

_SUBJECTS MUST BE TRANSFERRED TO CAPITOL FOR TREATMENT.  OTHERWISE BOTH WILL BE LOST._

 

_“Really?” Carter says out loud, clapping his hand over his mouth as he checks to make sure he wasn’t overheard by Felix.  He can’t believe his good fortune.  It’s even better than he could have hoped.  If Thirteen continues to insist that the Ellipses soldiers be part of the negotiations for the Capitol’s surrender, then Carter should be able to demand something in return._

 

_IF I AGREE, THIRTEEN MUST CAPITULATE TO NEW SOLDIER PROGRAM._

 

_His heart pounding, Carter sits back, wiping his brow as he waits for Thirteen’s response.  For all of his innate nervousness, he’s rather enjoying the opportunity to test his newfound power._

 

_THIRTEEN WILL CAPITULATE TO NEW SOLDIER PROGRAM FOLLOWING TRANSFER AND CURE OF SUBJECTS._

 

_Yes, that makes sense.  Carter didn’t really expect Thirteen to blindly capitulate, he seems too smart for that.  These two soldiers must be of some strategic importance to Thirteen for him to be so insistent on their recovery._

 

_UNDERSTOOD.  CURRENTLY WAITING ON DEMISE OF LEADER.  TIMETABLE UNKNOWN, BUT EXPECTED WITHIN A COUPLE WEEKS._

 

_UNDERSTOOD.  WILL CONTACT AGAIN SOON._

 

_ACKNOWLEDGED._

 

_And with that, Carter turns off the communications program.  He pushes his chair back from the desk, fighting to keep the smile from his face._

 

_Now, all he needs to do is wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet another challenge for our sweet Everlark to face. :( The stakes have been raised pretty high, but you know Katniss won't give up. Things are going to happen pretty quickly from here on out.
> 
> Please don't forget to leave me a comment! I always appreciate hearing what you think! :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank-you to my wonderful beta DandelionSunset. :) This story is all the better because of her. I also need to thank stjohn27 for talking through some of the plot points with me. :)
> 
> This chapter contains some brief descriptions of torture. I don't believe it to be overly graphic, but they are there. There are also a lot of medical descriptions. Please feel free to ask me any questions that you have. :)

I’m sitting on the end of my cot, my forehead pressed against the window, watching Peeta’s chest rise and fall with the programmed breaths from the ventilator. The nurse removes an empty bag of IV fluids, replacing it with a fresh one before adjusting something on the dialysis machine that’s cleansing Peeta’s blood. Both of Peeta’s kidneys stopped working after he went into shock, but now that he's more stable they’re starting to recover. Dr. Mullins says this should be the last time he’ll need the dialysis.

 

On the opposite side, Andrea the physical therapist lifts Peeta’s left leg off the bed, moving it in a complicated range of motion exercise. Even though he’s unconscious, he still needs the physical therapy to help keep his limbs from contracting.

 

It’s not fair at all that they get to touch him, and I can’t.

 

Next to me, the breakfast tray Prim brought in an hour ago sits untouched. I know I need to eat for our baby’s sake. But I have absolutely no appetite. Especially not for the bland, tasteless District 13 food. I’d much rather be eating some of Peeta’s cheese buns.

 

And especially not after what happened two days ago.

 

Dr. Mullins has been monitoring the tracker jacker venom levels in both Rye and Peeta ever since they were brought here. Since Peeta became ill, his levels have halted their slow but steady decline, due to the intense stress from the almost deadly shock. Unfortunately it's a catch-22, since the lingering venom is making it even more difficult for him to recover. Prim said that once his body cleared the virus that destroyed his immune system, he should be able to recover enough to wake up and be weaned off the ventilator. But that hasn’t happened yet.

 

Rye, on the other hand, has been able to continue metabolizing the venom in his blood, and Dr. Mullins predicts that it will completely clear his system sometime in the next few days. A quick biopsy of his bone marrow, completed two days ago while Rye was under sedation, showed that he’s currently free of the destructive virus. But Dr. Mullins warned us that this doesn't necessarily mean the virus isn’t just hiding out somewhere, waiting to activate once his body clears the venom. Even though Rye’s implants were removed, Dr. Mullins says there’s no way to assume that his body is free of the virus.

 

Delly Cartwright has been visiting with Rye daily in his room for the past several days, observed by members of his recovery team through the one-way glass. She and Rye have discussed everything from math teachers to wrestling coaches to Rye’s favorite pair of shoes when he was seven. Three days ago, she was even able to indirectly bring up Peeta, by mentioning the chalk drawings Delly used to draw with Rye’s younger brother on the paving stones next to the back door of the bakery.

 

The visit the next day started out fine. Delly and Rye chatted some more about home, talking for several minutes about the date Rye took to the Harvest Festival when he was sixteen, a Town girl by the name of Kayla. Things were going well until Delly brought up Peeta again, only this time by name.

 

It wasn’t her fault; she’d been instructed to do so by Dr. Mullins. But Rye obviously wasn’t ready to hear it. As soon as Peeta’s name crossed Delly’s lips, Rye froze. His limbs strained against the restraints, his eyes dilated until there was nearly none of the blue left, and his blood pressure and heart rates both climbed to dangerous levels. I was there too, watching through the window with the doctors, my heart shattering into tiny pieces as Rye screamed and shouted and spewed curses about my husband.

 

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out the sound of Rye screaming, calling Peeta, his own brother, a filthy, stinking mutt that deserves to die.

 

But without Rye’s help, Peeta _will_ die.

 

“Katniss?” The voice of my sister startles me from my thoughts, and I sit up, massaging my forehead where I’d been pressing it hard into the glass. Prim’s blue eyes fill with reproach as she notices the untouched food tray. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

 

Mechanically, I reach for the slice of bread, breaking off a piece and shoving it into my mouth. “I am now.”

 

Prim plops down onto the cot next to me, her brow furrowing. “Katniss—”

 

“I know, Prim!” I snap, regretting my harsh words almost instantly. “I know. I’m trying, I really am. It’s just—”

 

“Then you need to try harder, Katniss,” she says firmly. “Or Peeta’s going to be very upset with you once he wakes up.”

 

I bring my hands to my belly. Prim told me I should start to feel movement soon. “I know.”

 

Prim looks through the window, watching as Andrea starts working on Peeta’s left arm. His right arm is still in its cast, not due to come off for another week or so. “I’m going in to talk to Rye this morning,” she says.

 

I pause mid-chew as my eyes widen in surprise. “You are? Why?”

 

“Dr. Mullins wants to try someone else,” she says, shrugging. “Now that Rye negatively associates Delly with Peeta, Dr. Mullins doesn’t think we should have her visit anymore. The venom has just about cleared his system. It should be gone by tomorrow, based on his level today.”

 

“So, why don’t you wait until tomorrow?”

 

“Because if we can talk to him, reassure him that we’re trying to help him, and get him to agree to the procedure, we’ll want to go in as soon as the venom is cleared.” She pauses, looking through the window at Peeta. “He’ll likely always have some lingering effects, like Beetee’s mentioned. But at least the venom will finally be gone.”

 

  
We’re silent for several minutes, watching as Andrea and Peeta’s nurse work on Peeta. Before he got sick he’d started to put on some weight again, having been basically starved during his imprisonment. But now all that progress is gone. His arms and legs look as thin as sticks, and his skin is as pale as the stark hospital bedding. It’s as if he’s literally wasting away in front of me.

 

“Prim,” I say in a small voice. “What if he doesn’t agree?”

 

“He’ll agree, Katniss,” she replies. “We have to try and stay positive.” Glancing at the clock, she pats me on the shoulder. “I’m heading down there now. Do you want to come and watch?”

 

I shake my head as I stuff the rest of the bread into my mouth. I don’t think I could stand watching Rye spew more hatred about Peeta if things go wrong again. “No. But please, be careful. Don’t get too close to him.”

 

“And that right there is part of the problem,” Prim retorts. “Rye’s gotten so used to everyone tiptoeing around him, and treating him like he’s a monster, that he’s starting to believe it. Well, I’m not going to do that. I’m going to go in there and talk to him. Like he’s a regular person.”

 

“Prim—!”

 

“I’ll still be cautious, Katniss,” she says. “But I’m going to talk to him like we’re back at home, in the bakery maybe. We’ll see how it goes from there.” She picks up the spoon from my tray, placing it into my hand. “Finish your breakfast while I’m gone, or I won’t tell you how it goes.”

 

Sighing, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you, Prim.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she replies, rubbing comforting circles on my back. “I’ll come back here as soon as I’m done.”

 

* * *

  
_Carter smiles as he checks his reflection in his hallway mirror. His white uniform shirt is perfectly pressed, his crimson coat clean and sharp, with the buttons freshly polished. He even took the time to get his brown hair trimmed and his fingernails buffed and polished. Might as well look as good as he can for what should be his last meeting with Minister Antonius.  
_

 

_It hasn’t escaped Carter’s notice that the Minister has been looking more and more haggard and run-down lately. The city-wide curfew, in effect ever since the power outage that resulted in the escape of the Training Center prisoners, has been increasingly ignored by the Capitol citizenry, upset over the lack of their usual provisions. This has forced Antonius to recall hundreds of Peacekeepers from their posts guarding the Capitol’s borders, placing them in several garrisons around the city in order to maintain order and security. Despite these measures, looting has been on the rise, with food and clothing shops being the most likely targets.  
_

 

_The collapse of the Nut, which effectively shut down any possible military response the Capitol might mount against Thirteen, was the final straw. After that, Antonius sent his wife and children away to an unknown, secured location and proceeded to shut himself in his office. According to his secretary, no one has seen him since.  
_

 

_Inhaling a deep breath, Carter releases it slowly, giving a final nod to his reflection. It is time.  
_

 

_Exiting his rather modest apartment, he securely locks both deadbolts. No sense in inviting possible looters. Carter has been stockpiling food and money ever since Soldier Eighteen went rogue, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, but fearing for the worst. He’s very grateful for his insight now, but has no desire to make his hoarding tendencies known to anyone else.  
_

 

_Carter shakes his head in disgust as he walks the block to the Training Center, located within the portion of the city called the City Circle. The formerly impeccably clean streets are now littered with refuse and candy-colored glass, broken from the windows of nearby shops during the power outage. Off in the distance, he can hear the sounds of artillery fire. The rebels are advancing, getting closer and closer to the City Circle by the day. Even though Thirteen warned him they were coming, it's still quite disconcerting to actually hear it.  
_

 

_Arriving at the Training Center, Carter flashes his ID at the Peacekeeper guarding the door. The Minister’s spacious office is on the fifth floor, two levels up from the now-defunct Control Room.  
_

 

_“I’m here to see Minister Antonius,” he tells the dark-haired, mousy-looking woman sitting at the secretary’s desk. She jumps at the sound of his voice, clearly not expecting anyone._

_  
“Um… the Minister, he… ” she stammers. “He said no visitors were allowed… “_

_  
“I am not a mere visitor,” Carter retorts. “I am the Head Trainer. Now, inform the Minister that I am here to see him.”_

_  
The woman hesitates, paling visibly beneath her spackled-on makeup. “But—, but—.”_

_  
“Now!” Carter yells. He smiles as the woman pales even more, shrinking into her chair._

_  
He thinks he could get used to this._

_  
“Y-yes, sir,” she says. Pulling a set of keys from a desk drawer, she hobbles over to the mahogany door, her hands shaking as she unlocks it and pushes it open. Carter can just make out the figure slumped over the large desk, a crystal glass of Scotch clutched in one hand, the decanter empty next to him._

_  
“You’re dismissed,” Carter says to the secretary as he crosses the threshold. “Return to your home.”_

_  
“Yes, sir,” the woman replies. Hobbling back to her desk on her stiletto heels, she grabs a bright yellow handbag from a drawer, throwing the strap over her shoulder as she rushes out of the office._

_  
Carter takes another step into the office, smelling strongly of alcohol, turning to close the door behind him. He’d taken care of the security cameras from his home office earlier that morning, to ensure the complete absence of witnesses. He and the Minister were completely alone._

_  
“Sir?” Carter says softly as he approaches the desk, the heels of his polished black boots clacking ominously on the floor with each step. “Sir?” he repeats, a little louder this time._

_  
A loud snore emits from the man slumped over on the desk, alleviating Carter’s fears that he was already dead. Although it would’ve been perhaps more convenient, it wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying. Carter has been looking forward to this moment for quite some time._

_  
“Minister Antonius!” Carter calls once he reaches the desk. “Wake up, sir! I bring good news!” Antonius shudders at Carter’s words, his hand moving to dig his fingertips into his forehead as he slowly raises his head._

_  
“Carter?” Antonius slurs, blinking his bloodshot eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”_

_  
“I told you,” Carter says, deliberately raising his voice louder than necessary. He’s enjoying watching Antonius squirm. “I bring good news.”_

_  
Pushing himself upright in his chair, Antonius tips back his crystal glass, draining the contents in one messy gulp before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “And what could that possibly be, Carter, hmm?”_

_  
Carter straightens his back, snapping his heels together. “The war will soon be over, sir. I have won.”_

_  
Antonius stares for a moment, his head shaking with the effort of holding it up. “You’re out of your mind,” he finally says, his statement punctuated with a well-timed artillery blast. “Didn’t you hear that? The rebels will be on our doorstep in a matter of days. We’ve lost, you idiot. It’s over.”_

_  
Scoffing, Carter raises his hand. “I did not say that we won, Minister. I said specifically that I did.” He steps forward and placing his palms on the desk, leaning forward. “I have personally struck a deal with District Thirteen.”_

_  
In his inebriated state, it takes Antonius a few seconds to process Carter’s statement. Carter watches patiently, waiting for the precise moment for his words to sink in._

_  
He is not disappointed. As realization dawns, Antonius’s faces flushes red and his eyes bulge so wide Carter is surprised that they don’t pop out of his head. His hand grips the crystal glass so tight that it shatters, sending shards of bloodstained glass flying across the desktop. His other hand moves to palm his forehead, gripping his disheveled hair._

_  
“You… what… ?” Antonius manages to say. His hand fists even tighter in his hair. “You BETRAYED me? You, Mr. Carter?”_

_  
Carter only shakes his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Minister Antonius,” he says. “On the contrary, what I have done is redeemed this country. For the deal I have struck will allow me ample more opportunities to use my talents and skills than I would ever have had under your regime. The new leader is fully aware of my capabilities, and, unlike you, Minister, will allow me to use them to the best of my ability, with no limitations.” He leans forward, careful to avoid the splattered glass, and lowers his voice. “You see, Minister, this leader has grand plans for Panem. I will not bore you with the many details, but suffice it to say that the country that will rise out of the ashes of this rebellion will be the strongest version of Panem that has ever existed. And I will be right there, at the forefront of it all._

_  
“Of course, many of the districts must be rebuilt, thanks to this war, and the district citizens placated enough so as to earn their trust.” He pauses, inhaling a deep breath. “But once that is completed… oh, it will be simply glorious!”_

_  
Antonius clenches his bleeding hand into a fist, slamming it down onto the desk. “Damn you, Carter!” he rasps. “Damn you to hell!”_

_  
Chuckling, Carter straightens his back. “No, sir,” he replies. “Damn you for bringing us into this mess. Damn you for allowing your ego to get in the way of your duty. Damn you for thinking you were so much smarter than everyone else. And damn you, sir, for not realizing that this version of Panem should have died out a long time ago!”_

_  
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” Antonius croaks as he clutches his forehead with his uninjured palm, squeezing his eyes closed as if in pain. “I am still the president of this country!”_

_  
“That may be, sir,” Carter replies. “But, dare I say you will not be president for too much longer.” A wide, malicious grin spreads across his round face. “You see, sir, not long ago I took the liberty of exchanging, if you will, your blood pressure medications. So you see, that pressure you’re feeling now, deep within the recesses of your head, is the pain resulting from the tiny blood vessels in your brain that are so overworked and stressed that they’re starting to break.” He picks up the decanter, sniffing its contents. “The alcohol might have been enough to block out some of the pain, but it is not enough to halt the process. Even now, more and more of those blood vessels are giving up the fight. And soon, perhaps even as we speak, the pressure will build up to such high levels as to rupture the larger vessels, and so on, and so on, until there’s nothing left, except for you to die.”_

_  
“Aahh!” Antonius cries as he throws his head back, knocking the back of it against his chair. “Stop! The pain, I cannot take the pain!”_

_  
“It is called a cerebral hemorrhage, Minister!” Carter calls, watching with glee as Antonius cries out at the sound of his raised voice. “Or, if you prefer the layman’s term, a stroke. And unfortunately for you, sir, I’m afraid that I am not trained as a medic, or I would be bound by oath to try and help you.”_

_  
“Carter!” Antonius gasps, the entire right side of his face now drooping grotesquely, his bloodied right hand flapping uselessly against his head. “Why?”_

_  
Licking his lips, Carter watches as the Minister convulses violently, his left hand gripping his hair, his right hand now hanging off the padded arm of the chair. “Because, Minister, this time the odds were not in your favor.”_

_  
And with that, Minister Antonius sucks in a last breath, a look of sheer terror on his face as he breathes out for the final time. Carter watches him for a full minute, as if to ensure that he remains dead, before turning on his polished heel and exiting the office._

_  
He’ll leave the recovery of the Minister’s body to someone else, someone lesser than he. For right now, there is an important message to send._

  
_The war can now end. Let the new Panem rise._

 

* * *

  
“Haymitch, please!” I plead, glaring at the older man. “Don’t make me do this!”

  
“Haymitch isn’t making you do anything, Katniss,” Prim says firmly. “I’m the one making you do this. We just got the results back. Rye’s venom levels are down to zero, and he specifically asked to speak with you.”

  
I make a sound of disgust as I turn back towards the window, watching as two nurses give Peeta a sponge bath.

  
_I should be doing that._

“If your visit went so well, then why don’t you just go talk to him again?” I ask, still staring through the window.

  
“I plan to,” Prim says. She grabs my shoulder, turning me to look at her. “Look. Rye was just fine when I was speaking to him. In fact, he even managed to smile a bit. And he asked to speak with you. He wasn’t demanding, he didn’t yell. He asked politely, like a normal person. Like Peeta would have asked.”

  
I wince at my sister’s words, my lower lip quivering as I try to think of an appropriate response. But what jumps into my mind instead are Finnick’s words, from when we went hunting.

 _  
“Did you ever stop to think that it could’ve just as easily been Peeta?”_ Finnick had said. I’d told him that I had, but that wasn’t really the truth. In fact, before Finnick said anything, I hadn’t wanted to admit at all that Peeta could have turned out like Rye. That it could have been Peeta that threw me into the pit. Or worse, that Peeta could have captured me in District 12, way back when he was first sent to do so.

  
“He’s still strapped down, Katniss. He can’t hurt you,” Haymitch says, trying to be reassuring. “Remember, this is for Peeta.”

  
“I know, Haymitch!” I snap, glaring at him. My hands automatically go to my belly. “All right, fine! But I’m not going to get anywhere near him.”

  
“No, Katniss,” Prim says. “You can’t act like you’re afraid of him. He’ll pick up on it and shut down. We’re trying to show him that we don’t consider him as a threat to us.”

  
I inhale a deep breath, pressing my fingers against the glass of the window. _This is for you, Peeta._

 

“Okay. I’ll try.”

 

  
Prim smiles as we walk down the hall to Rye’s room, where Haymitch fits me with an earpiece so he can whisper instructions to me as during the conversation. All of the doctors line up behind the one-way glass, their clipboards ready and pens poised. At Haymitch’s nod, I’m buzzed into the room.

 

  
Rye’s eyes lock onto me instantly, those blue eyes that are so like his brother’s, but with the hint of green instead of cobalt. He’s got three restraints on each arm, two on each leg, and one across his chest. There’s also a dedicated IV tube with a sedative standing by, ready to infuse if he loses control. He watches me as I walk slowly into the room, halting about three feet away from the foot of his bed, slightly off to the side. I swallow hard, trying to keep my lower lip from quivering.

 

  
_He looks so much like Peeta!  
_

 

“Don’t just stare at him, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says into my earpiece. “Talk to him.”

  
I clear my throat, folding my hands in front of my stomach before I speak. “Hey, Rye.”

  
“Hey, Katniss,” he responds. He says my name very slowly, his voice almost sounding like his own, save for the edge of suspicion. Like he still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt.

  
“Um, how are you doing?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I cringe. What am I expecting him to say in response to that idiotic question?

  
“Just fine,” Rye replies sarcastically. His arms flex against the leather restraints. “It’s loads of fun being strapped down like this every time I get a visitor.”

  
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning towards the window. “Maybe we could—”

  
“No!” Rye exclaims, making me jump. He notices and continues on a bit quieter. “No. It’s too dangerous. Especially around you.” His hands clench into fists, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip as he stares off into the distance. “I might—, I might hurt you.”

  
“You were his last programmed target, Katniss,” I hear Haymitch say. “Try to not bring that up, if you can avoid it.”

  
“It’s good that you recognize it, at least,” I say. “The doctors must be pleased with your progress.”

  
Rye scoffs, shaking his head. “No one knows what to do with me.” He looks directly at the glass, pointing towards it with his chin. “They’re all watching me out there right now. Aren’t they?”

  
“Yeah, actually,” I say. There’s no sense in lying to him. “Um, you wanted to see me?”

  
“You know, I could never understand what my brother sees in you,” Rye says, his lips curling into a sneer. His blue eyes trail up and down my body from head to toe. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?”

  
His cruel words hit me like an arrow to the chest. It’s as if he can read my deepest, darkest insecurities. Rye is right; I am tiny, and the Seam olive skin and grey eyes were never seen as attractive by most of the townspeople in Twelve. Inter-class marriages were very rare in District 12. My own mother was disowned and shunned for marrying a man from the Seam.

  
“Peeta thinks I’m pretty,” I say, sounding petulant. “So I don’t really care what you think.”

  
“Easy, Katniss,” I hear in my ear. “No need to bait him.”

  
“My mom hated you,” Rye says, his blue eyes narrowing. “She’d tell Peeta all the time that you were nothing but another whore from the Seam, but he’d never listen.”

  
“Did you always listen to your mom?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I know the answer to that question. For how often Peeta’s mother would punish him over the most trivial of things, Rye was the brother who always got into the most trouble.

  
“No!” Rye says, and he even starts to chuckle a bit. “My mom was a bitch. All three of us hated her.”

  
“So maybe you shouldn’t value her opinion so much,” I retort. “Peeta’s old enough to make his own decisions. Just like you.”

  
“So is that why you came in here, Katniss?” he snaps, the sneer back on his face. “Just so we can reminisce about my mother?”

  
“You asked me to—“

  
“Why are you here, Katniss?” he asks again, this time in a calmer voice. “Are you the one who’s finally gonna tell me what’s going on with Peeta? I've been hearing whispers about something for days now, but no one will tell me what has happened. Not even Prim.”

  
My eyes immediately fill with tears, and I swipe them away, hoping Rye doesn't notice. “Peeta… he’s sick. He’s very sick. He could—, he could die.”

  
Rye slumps back against his pillows as the sneer drops from his face. I watch as he grabs a fistful of his bedsheet, his knuckles turning white. “How?”

  
I wait for Haymitch to give me the go-ahead before continuing. “The Ellipses marks. They weren’t just marks, they were implants. Designed to kill any of the Ellipses soldiers who tried to escape.”

  
His blue eyes widen in shock, then narrow dangerously. “What do you mean?”

  
“Antonius filled them with some kind of germ. The germ was designed to kill any soldier who didn’t return to the Training Center after his or her mission.” I pause, swallowing hard. My throat is scratchy from holding back my tears. “The germ escaped from Peeta’s implants. It tried to kill him. The doctors were able to save his life, but he's still very sick. He could still die.”

  
Rye tilts his head to the side, pointing towards his neck with a restrained hand. “Are these things in me, too?”

  
“They were. The doctors took yours out when Peeta got sick, but they won’t know if they got all of the germs out of you until—“

  
“Until I get sick,” Rye interrupts, scowling. He looks towards the window. “Am I right?”

  
I wait for Haymitch to relay instructions. When none are forthcoming, I draw in a deep breath, trying to guess what Peeta would say. “We’re doing everything that we can to keep you well, Rye. No one wants you to get sick.”

  
He shakes his head, his lower lip twitching, his eyes trained on the restraint wrapped around his right wrist. “You do,” he says quietly. “You hate me. You hate me for what I did to Peeta.”

  
My heart lurches in my chest, and a small whimper escapes my throat before I’m able to swallow it down. “I don’t—“

  
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Rye yells, his raised voice making me jump. “How can you stand there? How in the hell can you even look at me, knowing what I did to him?”

  
“Careful, Katniss,” Haymitch says. “We don’t want him too agitated.”

  
“I did hate you,” I blurt out, barely registering the curse Haymitch utters in my ear. “I did hate you at first. If it’d been up to me, I would’ve left you there in the Training Center to die when we rescued Peeta, because I hated you for how you hurt him.”

  
Rye looks up at me, the sneer back on his face. “He just would not shut up. No matter what we did to him, how we hurt him, he just kept mumbling. ‘My name is Peeta. I’m in love with Katniss. I like to draw. I like sunsets. I sleep with an open window.’ Blah, blah, blah. So we smashed his fingers, and stuffed him into a box, and told him that you were dead. That I’d killed you.”

  
“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Sweetheart,” Haymitch warns. “Don’t let him get to you. Remember why you’re in there.”

  
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I fight the swirl of emotions flowing through me. I hadn’t asked Peeta for specifics on how he was tortured, and he hadn’t ever offered them. The only vague ideas I had came from what he would scream out during his nightmares. “Peeta knew it was you,” I say softly. “But he also knew that you couldn’t help it. He knew you were being controlled. That Antonius was controlling you.”

  
“He never used to shut up about you at home either,” Rye continues, as if he didn’t hear me. “We’d be there, mixing dough, or he'd be frosting cookies, and he'd be rambling on about the size of the last squirrel that you shot, or some other such nonsense. It got so fucking tiresome after a while.” He lets out a morbid chuckle. “I do have to admit that I looked forward to the days when you’d come by the bakery though. Peeta was always in such a good mood on those days. Ban and I had so much fun teasing him.”

  
“Rye!” I say loudly. We don’t have time for a lengthy trip down memory lane right now. “Peeta needs your help. I told you that he’s dying. The truth is, is that you could help save him.”

  
Rye cocks an eyebrow, eyeing me suspiciously. “How?”

  
“The germ from his implants destroyed his immune system. The doctors have figured out a way to help save him, but they need your help. They need to take some tissue, called bone marrow, from your hip and give it to Peeta. It doesn’t harm you at all, and it would save his life.”

  
“What the hell kind of medicine is that?” Rye asks, looking at the window. “I've never heard of such a thing.”

  
“They say it’s why Antonius did it like that. Because it would be almost impossible to treat.” My knees are shaking so badly I’m surprised I’m still upright. I take a tentative step forward, bracing my hand against the footboard of Rye’s bed so I don’t fall over. “Rye, you can help save Peeta. You only have to agree to let the doctors take the tissue that they need.”

  
“And if I don’t?” he asks. “Then what?”

  
I squeeze my eyes closed, shaking my head. “You know what will happen if you don’t. Please, don’t make me say it. It’s too hard.”

  
He falls quiet, his body still except for the occasional twitch of his lips and wrinkle of his nose. He finally mumbles a response, but it’s spoken so softly that I don’t quite catch it.  
  
  
“What did you say?” I ask.

  
“I said, okay,” he replies. “Go ahead. Dig around in my hip and take what you need.”

  
Relief surges through my body, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling as I tighten my hand on the footboard. “Thank you, Rye. Thank you.”

  
His upper lip curls back into a sneer as he glances at my rounded belly. “Is that baby Peeta’s?”

  
My hands move instinctively to cover my stomach. “Yes, she’s Peeta’s daughter.” I suck in a breath. “And your niece.”

  
“Hmm,” he says, his lips twitching into the slightest of smiles. “A girl Mellark. My mom would’ve had a fit. She always wanted a daughter, and instead she got stuck with three boys. Life’s full of irony, isn’t it?”

  
“I guess.” Now that he's agreed to the procedure, I’m anxious to leave so we can get it started. “Peeta would’ve been just as happy with a boy though.”

  
Rye slumps back against his pillows. “Yeah, I know he would’ve.” He jerks his head towards the door. “Go now. Go and do what you need to do.”

  
I nod as I take a step towards the door. “Thank you, Rye,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

  
He gives a slight nod, and a small tear winds its way down his cheek. “Go on,” he says roughly. “Get out of here.”

  
Prim is waiting for me on the other side of the door to greet me with a hug. “That was perfect, Katniss. We’ll get him prepped as soon as possible. With any luck, we’ll know by tomorrow if we can get this to work.”

  
“Thank you,” I say against her shoulder.

  
“You go and rest now, Katniss. I know you haven’t slept all night, so I want you to try and rest for awhile. Nothing else will happen until we retrieve the tissue and determine if this can work.”

  
“Okay.” I remove the earpiece, handing it to Haymitch.

  
“Nice job, Sweetheart,” he says, taking my arm. “I didn’t know if you had in you, but you pulled through.”

  
Too tired and drained to answer, I simply nod, allowing Haymitch to lead me back to my room. As soon as I step inside I walk directly to the glass, pressing my palms against it, trying to imagine that I’m touching my husband instead.

  
“I love you, Peeta,” I whisper. “And you were right about Rye. He’s gonna try and save you.”

 

* * *

  
With precious little time to waste, the procedure takes place only an hour later. Prim tells me when I wake up from my nap that they were able to retrieve enough tissue to treat Peeta, as long as the results from the analysis come back favorable.

  
“We’ll know in twenty-four hours, Katniss,” Prim says. “Dr. Mullins and Beetee are working on analyzing a sample right now, and the rest of it has been put into cold storage until we can transport both of them to the Capitol. And I’ve already started on a plan for transporting Peeta that won’t break his isolation.” She smiles so wide her teeth show. “I feel good about this, Katniss. I think it’s really going to work.”

  
I wish I could share my sister’s enthusiasm, but if this entire experience has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t rely on hope. Hope has let me down far too many times lately. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

  
“Tomorrow,” Prim echoes, pulling me into a hug.

  
I don’t sleep that night. I try, knowing the stern lecture I’ll get from Prim if I don’t, but it’s impossible. After nearly tossing and turning myself right off the cot for the second or third time I give up, sitting instead on the end of it with my forehead pressed to the glass, watching Peeta’s chest rise and fall. The nurses say he’s getting stronger, now that the virus has cleared his system, and that he should be able to wake up soon, start breathing on his own again. They tell me these things because they think it will help me feel better, but they don’t know Peeta like I do.

  
They don’t understand that it would be better for him to stay unconscious. They don’t understand how hard it is to be this close to the person you love, and not be able to touch them. And if it’s this hard for me, it’s going to be even harder for Peeta. Even before he was recaptured, he could barely sleep unless he was holding me, his body wrapped around mine. I don’t know how he’ll be able to manage being away from me now, when he still has so much to recover from.

  
Prim’s hand on my shoulder startles me awake, causing me to bump my head against the glass. “Ow,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. My neck and back are stiff and my right leg is asleep. Glancing at the clock, I’m shocked to see that it’s nearly lunchtime.

  
“Katniss,” Prim whispers, the tone of her voice causing the blood to freeze in my veins. Slowly, I turn my head to find Beetee standing behind Prim. This can’t be good.

  
“Katniss,” Prim repeats. “We have some news.”

  
My lower lip starts to shake. “It’s not going to work,” I choke out. “Is it.”

  
Beetee steps forward, clearing his throat. “Rye… um… well, he spiked a fever, during the night, Katniss,” he says quietly. “His bone marrow is infected too.”

  
“We were able to stabilize him before he went into shock,” Prim says. “Since we knew what to look for, we were able to help him before it got to that point. So he’s under isolation now too, but—”

  
“But he won’t get as sick as Peeta,” I interrupt. “Right?”

  
“No, he won’t,” Prim replies, her blue eyes narrowing. “Not if we can help it. And that’s a good thing.”

  
“This virus, it’s a nasty little bugger,” says Beetee. “It must’ve been hiding out somewhere else, and moved in as soon as Rye’s body cleared the venom.” He shakes his head, pushing up his black glasses. “I’ve never seen anything like it. No one has.”

  
Two tears roll down my cheeks. I can almost hear my heart cracking in two. “So, Peeta’s gonna die.”

  
“No, Katniss,” Prim says. She sits down on the cot, her hands reaching for mine. “No. Beetee and I have come up with an alternative plan. It’s not ideal. There’s still the potential for all sorts of complications, and we won’t be able to do anything at all for several months, except to keep both boys alive. But if it works, we’ll be able to save both Peeta and Rye at the same time.”

  
More tears sting my eyes, and I can barely force myself to ask the question. “What is it? What’s the plan?”

  
“The original plan called for us to use Rye’s bone marrow and transplant it into Peeta,” Beetee says. “We can’t do that now, since Rye’s bone marrow is infected too. But, there is one other person here who share’s Peeta’s genetic makeup. And Rye’s.”

  
It takes a few seconds for my muddled brain to realize who Beetee’s referring to. As soon as I make the connection my hands move instinctively to my belly. “What? How?”

  
“I’d already been researching this possibility, just in case,” says Prim. “Bone marrow transplants were used to treat diseases like Peeta’s all the time many years ago. But in some cases, if there wasn’t a suitable donor to be found, they could use the cord blood of a baby. Ideally, the daughter, son, or sibling of the patient.”

  
“You’re not going to hurt our baby!” I cry, backing into the corner. “Peeta wouldn’t allow it, and neither will I!”

  
“It won’t affect your baby at all, Katniss,” says Beetee. “In fact, neither she nor you will even experience anything other than the normal birthing process. The umbilical cord blood is usually discarded after the baby’s born, but it’s a rich source of stem cells, which are the cells required to reboot a patient’s immune system. In this case, we will save the cord blood, process it, and then infuse it into Rye and Peeta.”

  
“And she’ll be okay?” I ask, still clutching my belly.

  
“She’ll be just fine, Katniss, I promise,” says Prim. “And she’ll save both her daddy’s and uncle’s lives. We just need to wait until she’s born.”

  
I look through the window at Peeta, pressing my fingertips into my abdomen. I know a normal pregnancy is around 40 weeks, but my mother has delivered babies that have been two and three weeks past their due dates before. What if I’m like that?

  
“She won’t be born for another five months. Can we keep him alive for that long?”

  
“Yes,” Prim says firmly. “Without a doubt. And Rye too, since we were able to catch him before he went into shock. We weren’t as caught off guard with him as we were with Peeta.”

  
“We will still need to transport you all to the Capitol,” says Beetee. “And preferably before you go into labor. But from what President Coin has said regarding the progression of the war, that shouldn’t hopefully be an issue.”

  
“And as long as there’s no complications, Katniss, I can do a test when you’re around 38 weeks,” says Prim. “If the baby’s lungs are fully developed by then, we can induce labor. We don’t have to wait until 40 weeks if the baby looks good.”

  
My teeth catch on my bottom lip as I look up into the hopeful eyes of my sister. If she thinks this will work, I have no choice but to believe her. The alternative is just unacceptable.

  
“Okay,” I say. “When do we leave for the Capitol?”

  
“Well, we still technically have to win the war,” says Beetee. “But it would be preferable to transfer you there as soon as possible after that. Once we’re able to ensure the security of the hospital, and any medical personnel that might have access to the four of you, of course.”

  
“I’ll be going with you, Katniss,” Prim says. “And I’m sure Mom and Dad will want to as well.”

  
I squeeze my eyes closed, feeling the tears leak out the corners and trail down my cheeks. I’m so, so tired of crying. So tired of having to cry. I want to be happy again. And I want to be happy again without constantly having to wonder what horrible thing is going to happen next.

  
“So right now, all we can do is wait.”

  
Prim sighs. “Yes, Katniss. But at least we’re waiting with a purpose now. Try to look at it that way, okay?”

  
“I’ll try.”

  
“Good. Now, you should—“

  
“I know, Prim,” I interrupt, rubbing my temples, where a fatigue headache is starting to creep in. “I’ll try and get some rest.”

  
“I'll let you know if anything changes, Katniss,” says Beetee as he exits the room.

  
“Thank you,” I whisper to his retreating back.

  
Prim purses her lips as she stands. “I'll come and check on you in a bit, then.”

  
Using the rest of my strength, I get to my feet and hug my sister. She’s been working so hard to find a way out of all this, and she really deserves a lot more thanks than I've been showing her.

  
“Thank you, Prim,” I say. “For everything. I don’t—, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  
She nods against my shoulder. “You’re welcome. Isn’t that what sisters are for?”

  
“I guess.”

  
She squeezes me tight one more time, then kisses my forehead and winks. “Now, get some rest, and I'll come and check on you later. That’s an order.”

  
My lips quirk into the tiniest of smiles. “Yes, Doctor.”

  
I lie back on the little cot, both of my hands running up and down over my rounded belly, over my daughter. Our daughter, who’s just been handed such a monumental task, and she hasn’t even been born yet.

  
She’s going to save her daddy’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it. This will be the endgame. Peeta, Katniss, and Rye all must be transported to the Capitol at some point before the toastbaby's birth. The safety of all four of them will be the main concern for the rest of the story.
> 
> And, you've probably guessed that it won't be as easy as it sounds. ;)
> 
> I'm always anxious to hear what you think! Please don't hesitate to drop me a review!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so thrilled with the response to this story! I can't thank you all enough for the kudos and kind comments! We're in the home stretch now, only three chapters left after today. :)
> 
> This story wouldn't be the same without the help of my sweet beta DandelionSunset, and my sweet friend stjohn27. Thank you both for all of your help!
> 
> This chapter contains some brief mentions of torture and a PTSD-related panic attack. Peeta puts on a brave face most of the time, but I feel it would do his character a disservice to not show some of how he was affected by his imprisonment and torture.

_THESE ENDLESS BACK AND FORTH DISCUSSIONS ARE POINTLESS.  PRECIOUS TIME IS BEING WASTED.  I WISH TO ANNOUNCE THE SURRENDER ASAP._

 

_Carter leans back in his chair, tapping a finger to his chin as he grins.  He’s got Thirteen right where he wants him now._

 

_FEEL FREE TO ANNOUNCE THE SURRENDER.  AS LONG AS ALL OF MY REMAINING TERMS ARE CAPITULATED._

 

_STAND BY._

 

_Chuckling, Carter slides his chair back from his home workstation and makes his way into the kitchen to prepare something to eat.  Through his window he can hear loud voices coming from the street below.  People arguing over something, likely a pair of boots or a can of lamb stew.  The voices continue for several minutes before another voice joins in, that of one of the rebel soldiers Carter determines, judging from the lack of an accent.  The third voice orders the other two back to their homes, threatening to restore to arrest if they do not comply._

 

_Damn district scum.  Who do they think they are to speak to Capitol citizens in such a manner?_

 

_He’s just finishing his angel hair pasta with white wine sauce and mushrooms when his computer beeps._

 

_THIRTEEN WILL CAPITULATE TO ALL REMAINING TERMS._

 

_A sadistic grin stretches over Carter’s face.  Excellent._

 

_Being the type of person he is, Carter has already written up the entire terms of surrender, as well as a charter for the new Panem government.  All that’s required now are a few simple changes to wording and dates, and the documents will be ready to be transmitted._

 

_OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS WILL BE SENT TOMORROW ON THIS CHANNEL.  NO ANNOUNCEMENTS ARE TO BE MADE PRIOR TO THE RETURN OF SIGNED DOCUMENTS._

 

_ACKNOWLEDGED._

 

_Carter swirls his piece of French bread through the remaining sauce on his plate, popping it into his mouth as he glances around his apartment.  He’ll need a new place to live, of course.  One more suitable for his new position.  And he’ll require servants as well, and someone to warm his bed on a regular basis.  He supposes he should have to marry at some point; most high government officials have spouses, for appearances more than anything else.  But still, he’ll want an heir, and that will require a wife.  Perhaps two heirs would be better, actually.  Just in case the first one doesn't turn out correctly._

 

_Bringing his plate back to the kitchen, Carter cleans up the mess from his dinner, mentally counting down the days to when he will no longer have to be concerned with such menial tasks.  There is no way the Deputy Prime Minister of Panem will ever be washing his own dishes._

 

_Carter sits back down at his workstation, pulling up the documents to peruse through them one final time.  He knows they are perfect already, but there currently are no other tasks that require his attention, so he may as well check them again.  Carter has always had an exceptionally fine grasp of grammar and proper sentencing.  In fact, one of his teachers during his school years even made the mistake once of telling him that he’d do well to become a writer.  The thought of it causes his upper lip to curl.  As if Carter would ever stoop to such a degree, that of telling other people’s stories for the entertainment of others.  Writers are people whose own lives are so uninteresting that they are required to invent people and situations in order to make themselves look better._

 

_No.  Devin Carter, the soon-to-be Deputy Prime Minister of Panem, needs no such aid.  He is perfectly capable of presenting himself just fine, thank you very much._

 

_Perhaps he should look up that teacher, once everything is put into place.  It would be unacceptable for her to be going around telling other people like Carter the same such nonsense.  What if someone actually listened to her?  The possible wasted potential sends a shiver down Carter’s spine._

 

_Finished with his read-through of the documents, Carter copies them three times onto various internal and external hard drives, then powers down his workstation before walking back into the kitchen to fetch some of the Scotch he pilfered from Antonius’s office.  Unlike most of his peers at the Training Center, Carter wasn’t one for drinking very much alcohol, and never any of the hard liquors, preferring to stick mainly with various wines and ports.  But, he figures, it’s never too early to start acting his new part._

 

_Pouring a shot of the Scotch, Carter swallows it down in one gulp, grimacing at the burning sensation in his throat from the harsh liquid and fighting the urge to cough.  He swipes at his watering eyes and pours another, swallowing it down just as quickly. It goes down a bit easier, but only barely.  Disgusted, Carter slams the glass down on the countertop, glaring at it as his eyes continue to water.  No wonder Antonius had health problems.  The man used to drink this stuff like water._

 

_Recapping the decanter, Carter places it under the sink, where the cleaning supplies are stored.  Maybe it can be used for cleaning the toilets once he begins his new position.  He pulls a bottle of his favorite red from the refrigerator, pouring a generous glass before heading into the living room and flipping on the television to watch Caesar Flickerman.  Because there have to be some things that remain constant, even during these uncertain times._

 

_And what better than a blue-haired television host?_

 

* * *

 

I’m standing in the anteroom with my sister and father, who, along with Gale, Thom, and Boggs, was finally released to return from his mission to District 2.  I press my sweaty palms to the glass, watching intently as Dr. Mullins wheels the disconnected ventilator over to the other side of Peeta’s room.  Peeta was able to breathe on his own for the entire night, without the help of the ventilator, and now that the last of his sedative drugs has worn off, Dr. Mullins is prepping him to remove the breathing tube.  Once that’s out, and his cast is taken off in a few more days, he’ll be able to resume his physical therapy and hopefully regain some of his mobility and strength.  Even if he won’t be allowed to leave his room until it’s time to head to the Capitol.

 

“Okay, I’m going in, Katniss,” Prim says, tucking her long, blonde braid up into the sterile cap on her head and adjusting the surgical mask covering her nose and mouth.

 

I nod, not taking my eyes off of Peeta’s restrained left hand, which keeps clenching into a fist so tight his knuckles turn white, then unclenching slowly only to repeat the process.  His jaw is rigid, his head moving slightly side to side as his blue eyes flit nervously around the room.  He’s no doubt wondering where I am, and who all those masked people are, and why in the world there’s a tube shoved down his throat.  A sense of dread starts to creep over me as I fold my hands under my rounded belly. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

 

There’s a loud hissing noise followed by a rush of air as Prim enters the pressurized room, stepping over to join Dr. Mullins and the two nurses crowded around Peeta’s bed.  My father’s hands cup both of my shoulders, rubbing my upper arms in a silent show of support.

 

“All right, Peeta, we’re going to pull this out of your throat now,” says Dr. Mullins, removing the last of the tape holding the breathing tube in place.  “Are you ready?”  At Peeta’s shaky nod he glances at Prim, who wraps her gloved hand around the tube.  “On the count of three, two, one…”

 

With a single strong yank, Prim pulls out the tube.  Peeta immediately starts to choke, turning his head and gasping for breath.  “It’s okay, Peeta,” Prim says soothingly, patting his cheek as he coughs.  “It’s okay, you’re okay.  Just take deep breaths.  You’re okay.”

 

“Where—,” Peeta rasps, cut off by another round of choking.  One of the nurses turns him onto his side as Dr. Mullins places his stethoscope on Peeta’s back, listening to his lungs.

 

“You're okay, Peeta,” Prim repeats, still stroking his cheek.  She unbuckles the restraints over his wrists, freeing his hands.  “Just try and relax and take deep breaths.  That’s it.”

 

“His lungs are clear,” announces Dr. Mullins.  “It’s just some gunk in his throat.  Let’s get him sitting up some.”

 

I let out a stuttered breath as the head of Peeta’s bed is elevated into a semi-reclined position, unaware of my father’s hands still resting on my shoulders until they squeeze slightly, making me jump.  Peeta continues to look around the room, his eyes flitting rapidly from person to person, barely recognizable in their masks.

 

“Where’s Katniss?” he says, his voice a raspy whisper.  My heart lurches at how frightened he sounds.  “Where is she?  Why isn’t she here?”

 

“Peeta,” Prim says, cupping his cheek.  “Look at me.  You are going to be okay.  Katniss is here, she’s just outside the room.  She’s all right, Peeta.  There’s no need to be scared.”

 

But Peeta only shakes his head, his blue eyes wide and anxious.  “Who’re you?  Why won’t you tell me where Katniss is?”

 

“I’m Primrose,” says Prim.  “You know me, Peeta.  I’m Katniss’s sister.  I wouldn’t lie to you.  Katniss is here, she’s watching through that window over there.”  Prim taps one of the nurses on the shoulder, indicating for her to move so Peeta can better see the window.  “See?  She’s right there, with our dad.”

 

“Talk to him, Katniss,” Dad whispers in my ear.  “Remember, he can hear you.”

 

My lower lip starts to shake as I clear my throat.  “I’m here, Peeta.  I can see you.  You’re going to be okay now.  Just try and stay calm.”

 

“Katniss can’t come in here right now, Peeta,” Prim says.  “But she can see you through the window, and talk to you.”

 

“No, no, no,” he mumbles, shaking his head.  “That’s not her.  That’s not my Katniss.”  The heart monitor attached to his chest begins to beep as he gulps for air, his face flushing red as his disbelieving eyes bore into me through the window.  “That one’s not real!  What have you done to my Katniss?”

 

“Peeta!” I choke out.  “It’s me!  I’m real, and I love you.  Please, listen to Prim!  Try and calm down!”

 

“YOU’RE NOT REAL!” he screams at the window, the force of his voice apparent even through the thick glass.  “MY KATNISS WOULD BE HERE!”  He swings his casted right arm, hitting one of the nurses square in the chest and nearly knocking her to the floor.  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH KATNISS?”

 

“His blood pressure is spiking!” the other nurse calls.  “Dr. Mullins!”

 

“No!” I cry.  “Peeta, please, it’s okay!  I’m real!”

 

“Knock him out!” the doctor commands, barely catching Peeta’s flailing arm in his hand.  “Now!”

 

Prim pulls a syringe from her pocket, jamming the needle into the IV port running into Peeta’s neck.  He falls still a few seconds later, the sounds of his panicked cries still echoing around his room and reverberating in my ears.  My mind flashes back to District 12, when he was found in the woods by Gale and Rory.  He couldn’t remember who I was when he woke up from his high fever.  Now, it almost seemed like he thought I’d been replaced by an evil, mutt version of myself.

 

“Daddy,” I sob.  “What’s wrong with him?”

 

“I don’t know, songbird,” Dad says.  “It was almost as if he was scared of you.”

 

“Blood pressure is stabilizing, Doctor,” the nurse says, breathing out a sigh of relief.  Dr. Mullins nods, scratching the top of his head through his cap.

 

“He was scared,” Prim says to the doctor.  “I don't think this is a lingering effect of the virus.  He couldn’t understand why Katniss wasn’t in the room, that’s all.  He expected Katniss to be here, and when she wasn’t he got worried for her.”

 

Dr. Mullins furrows his brow, his eyes narrowing behind his half-moon glasses.  “Hmm.  Well, we’ll have to make sure we wake him up more gradually next time.  And, make sure he has a clear line of sight to the window.”  He nods at one of the nurses.  “We’ll keep him sedated for now, while we reevaluate what to do.”

 

“Please!” I say.  “Isn’t there a way I could be in there next time?  If he can see me better, then maybe—”

 

“No chance, Katniss,” Prim says firmly, her strong glare apparent even through her mask as she heads for the door.  I cringe at the horrible hissing noise as she steps back into the anteroom, pulling the mask from her face.  “You know the risks, and what’s at stake here.  There’s no way.  We’ll figure something else out for next time.”

 

“I can volunteer, if it will help,” my father says.  “I’m not sure how much Peeta would recognize me, but if it’ll help… ”

 

Prim cocks her head, thinking.  “That’s actually a good idea.  If we can have people sitting in his room with him, people he knows, it might help keep him calmer.”  She huffs out a sharp breath as she removes her cap.  “It’s just not good for him to be sedated all the time.  He needs to be continuing on with his therapies, and his cast is scheduled to come off in a few days.”

 

“Just let me know when, Primrose,” Dad says.  “I’ll be there to help him.”

 

“As long as Coin doesn’t try sending you away again,” I say bitterly, swiping at my nose.  “She seems to think that you’re needed anywhere except here lately.”

 

“Then I’ll inform President Coin that I need to stay here,” he says, turning me around to face him.  “Being here to help and support you and Peeta is more important than any mission.”

 

I don't reply, looking through the window instead.  I hate the way Peeta looks when he’s sedated, how still he lies, and the artificial quality to his sleep.  Shuddering, I turn to my sister.  “Why do you think he got so scared?”

 

“I don’t know, Katniss,” Prim replies.  “It might have something to do with his torture in the Capitol; it’s possible they could’ve used some of the propo footage of you in a negative way somehow.  But there’s no way to be sure without asking him, and I won’t do that until he’s calm enough to handle those kinds of questions.”

 

I feel that fluttering again in my belly, the slight tickling sensation that’s as light as a butterflies wings.  I press my palm over the spot, wishing Peeta could feel it too. “The baby’s moving again.”

 

A big smile breaks out over Prim’s flushed face.  “That’s good, Katniss.  We need to make sure and tell Peeta when he wakes up.  I think that will help him too.”

 

“The sedative will wear off in about six hours,” Dr. Mullins says as he enters the anteroom, removing his mask.  “The nurse is going to keep a close eye on him, and when he starts to wake up, we’ll make sure to have only familiar people in his line of sight.  They’ll still be masked and gowned, but maybe he’ll be able to recognize their eyes.”

 

“I’ll do it,” says Dad.  “My eye color is very similar to Katniss’s.  He might stay calm enough to listen to me.”

 

“Good,” says Dr. Mullins, nodding.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and check on the other Mellark brother.”  He pauses at the door, his hand on the doorknob.  “Primrose, would you like to accompany me?”

 

“Yes, Doctor!” Prim says excitedly, her blue eyes sparkling.  “I’ll be right there!”

 

“You’re sure soaking all this training up, aren’t you?” Dad says, winking at his younger daughter.  “You’re a natural, Prim.”

 

Grinning, Prim nods.  “There’s just so much to learn!  And Dr. Mullins is a good teacher, so patient and willing to listen and explain everything.  He’s having to learn almost as much as me with these two complicated cases.  No one here has ever dealt with anything like this before… ”  Her voice trails off as she glances at me.  “No, Katniss, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

I shake my head, pressing my palms against the window and trying to force the scowl from my face.  It’s not Prim’s fault that she’s enjoying the challenges of becoming a doctor.  I just wish she wasn’t learning most of her newfound skills from having to treat my husband.  “I know, Prim.  I’m glad you’re able to care for Peeta.  He’s very lucky to have you to help him.  I just wish—”

 

“He’s gonna be okay, Katniss,” she says, pulling me into a hug.  “This is just a temporary setback.”

 

“I know,” I say, trying to sound like I mean it.  “Go.  Go and help Rye now.”

 

“I’ll come back and check on you later,” she says as she heads for the door.  “Try and get some rest!”

 

“Hmm… ” Dad says, staring at the door and tapping his chin.  He gives a slight shake of his head, as if to clear it.  “Now, Katniss.  You heard what your sister said.  Try and get some rest.  Peeta won’t be waking up for a few hours.”

 

Knowing it’s useless to try and argue, I climb onto my cot, pulling the covers up to my neck.  “You’ll come back when it’s time?”

 

“Yes, I will, songbird,” Dad replies, brushing my hair out of my eyes.  He leans down to kiss my forehead. “Rest now.  You’re growing a very important baby, and you need your rest.”  His large hand cups my cheek.  “And she’s not important because of what she’s going to do.  She’s important because she’s yours.  Yours and Peeta’s.”

 

I cup my abdomen under the blankets as more tears sting my eyes.  Just the other day I overheard Plutarch speaking with the camera crew, planning another set of propos, this time to feature our baby once she’s born.  He was going on and on about how he couldn’t wait to tell all of Panem about our miracle baby, how all the people were going to eat up the story.  It was all I could do to walk away, knowing I’d only get in trouble with Coin if I dared to say anything.  Dad just about blew a vessel when I told him about it, promising to put a stop to it immediately.

 

“Yeah.  I know.”

 

“All right.”  He kisses my forehead again, tucking the blankets over my shoulder.  “I’ll see you later.”

 

* * *

 

Things do go better the second time around.  Peeta opens his eyes this time to find not only my father in his room, speaking to him in soothing tones, but also my mother, holding his good hand and smoothing back his hair.  His look of disbelief followed by wide-eyed acceptance as recognition washes over him hits me right in the gut.  I highly doubt his own mother ever touched him as tenderly.

 

“And see, Peeta,” my father says softly, pointing to me with his gloved hand.  “Katniss is right over there, through that window.  She’s been there the whole time.”

 

Peeta looks at me quizzically, his brow furrowing as his eyes flit between my father and me.  “Why can’t she come in here?  Why can’t she stay with me?”

 

“Peeta, I’m here,” I say in a quavering voice.  “I wish I could be there with you.  I wish so badly that I could.  But I need to protect our baby.  I can’t come in there with you without hurting our baby.”

 

“No, no,” he says.  He squeezes his eyes closed, shaking his head.  I watch as a curl flops down over his forehead, and Mom smooths it back.  “That doesn’t make any sense.  She was able to stay with me before.”

 

“You’re sick, son,” says Dad.  He points to the mask and cap that he’s wearing.  “It’s why we have to wear all of this when we come in and see you.  But even that isn’t enough, and so we have to scrub ourselves down with chemicals as well.  It’s so we don’t pass on any germs to you that your body can’t fight back against.  But the chemicals that protect you from the germs aren’t good for the baby, so Katniss can’t use them.  She needs to protect your baby.”

 

“Our baby,” Peeta says, looking at me through the window.  A hint of a smile crosses his chapped lips.  “How’s she doing?”

 

“She’s doing great,” I answer, trying to sound cheerful.  “She was moving around earlier today.  I could feel it.”

 

“Oh,” he says, smiling a bit wider.  “That’s good.  That’s real good.  I wish I could feel it.”

 

“I wish you could too, Peeta,” I say, my throat tightening.  “I wish I could be in there with you.  I wish it so badly.”

 

“She’s more important,” Peeta says, stifling a yawn.  “I’m tired.  I think I’ll sleep now.”

 

“You’ve been through a lot,” says Mom.  “You need to rest.”

 

Peeta settles back against his pillows as Mom tucks his blankets up around his chest.  “Thank you.” His sad blue eyes flit back to me. “Katniss?  Will you stay with me?”

 

I choke back a sob as I nod, pressing my palm to the glass.  “I’ve always been here.  And I’ll always be here.  I love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” Peeta mumbles, his eyes already closed.  “My Katniss is real, and she loves me.”

 

Mom and Dad sit with him until he’s fully asleep, then slip out, rejoining me in the anteroom.  “That seemed to go a lot better,” says Mom as she peels off her disposable clothing.  “I’ll set up a rotation so he’s not alone too much during the day.  Hazelle and the younger children should be able to take turns, and I’m sure some of his friends will help too.”

 

“Thank you,” I whisper.  “He’ll like that.”

 

* * *

 

Peeta does appreciate having people to talk to, especially after he gains enough strength to restart his physical therapy.  Rory, Vick, Hazelle, Delly, Finnick, Madge, and even Gale and Thom start taking rotations in Peeta’s room during the daytime hours, with Prim and Mom helping him each day with this physical therapy.  They play cards and chess, watch old movies from the archives in the district, and talk about home.  Finnick tells Peeta all about District 4, and how he can’t wait to get back there and start rebuilding so Peeta and I can visit someday.

 

Things improve even more when a group of special visitors shows up one day, out of the blue.  Jedrek and Johanna were apparently dispatched by President Coin a couple weeks ago to locate the refugee camp where Peeta and I stayed with Jedrek’s family, and bring back any people willing to fight for the rebel cause.  I'll never forget the tiny cries of “Katniss!” from little Juniper and Aster as they tackled my legs, with Poppy, Calla, and Cypress hanging back to give me a hug once their little sisters decided to release me.  Peeta’s face lights up so much at the sight of Fern and the children that he almost looks like his old self.  Fern and Poppy even join the rotation to keep him company, telling him how they taught themselves how to bake bread like he did, using the outdoor oven he built.

 

Thresh and a few other men arrive as well, and are quickly absorbed into the military training programs under Boggs and Gale’s tutelage.  I’m not exactly sure why Coin insists on training more troops, when the war is all but won.  Gale assures me that there will always be the need for a peacekeeping corps, especially one that is trustworthy, but it still seems odd to me.  Like Coin is trying to raise her own private army.

 

Dr. Mullins is finally able to remove the cast on Peeta’s right arm and hand a week later.  On my eighteenth birthday, no less, which I only realize when my father wishes me a happy birthday.  Being stuck inside here most of the time I’ve lost track of what day it is.

 

I have to stifle a gasp when I first see Peeta’s repaired limb.  There are scars running the length of four of the stick-thin fingers, and a large, dimpled scar covering most of the back of his hand.  I can tell Peeta is upset when he first sees it too, with the way his eyes cloud over and his jaw clenches as he slowly curls his fingers into a shaky fist.  Prim starts him on physical therapy right away, giving him a therapeutic ball to squeeze for several hours a day to try to regain some strength. She assures me that she’s not going to have him attempt to write or draw anything until a few weeks down the road, when he’s stronger.  No sense in giving him more to be anxious about.

 

The days aren’t too horribly bad, with the rotating door of visitors to keep Peeta company, and the physical therapy to keep him busy.  There are times when he gets upset, knocking the chess boards to the floor or ripping up the playing cards.  It’s especially bad if I've had to leave the room for some reason, for yet another meeting in Command or one of my prenatal visits with Prim.  Haymitch insists on scheduling the Command meetings during Peeta’s daily afternoon naps after he tried to hobble out of his room one morning to go looking for me.  Vick, who was in with him at the time, had to sit on him to keep him still until his nurse returned from her ill-timed break.

 

And then other times, instead of lashing out at people, Peeta withdraws into himself, curling up on his bed and refusing to talk to anyone for several hours.  So far I’ve been able to cajole him back to me, but he scares me when he’s like that, even more than when he’s loud and yelling. It reminds me too much of when my mother was lost in her depression.

 

But we manage to get by.  As hard as it is, he’s alive, and that’s what’s most important.

 

Unfortunately, the nights soon become an entirely different story.

 

The nightmares don’t start right away.  They wait until all the drugs have worked themselves out of Peeta’s system, and his body has recovered just enough for him to realize how much more he has to accomplish to get himself back to normal.  They start only once or twice per night, where I wake up to the sound of Peeta whimpering and thrashing in his bed, begging people not to hurt him anymore.  At first I’m able to wake him up and calm him down with my voice, talking or singing to him until he falls back asleep.  But as the long days and nights continue to pass, it gets harder and harder to reassure him that he’s going to be okay, that I’m here, even though he can’t be near me or touch me.

 

That I’m real.

 

We try all sorts of things, short of giving him more drugs, which Peeta adamantly refuses.  We move both his bed and my cot right up against the window so he can see me better.  Prim massages his shoulders and back before he goes to sleep, saying that she does it for Rye every evening and it’s been working for him.  Dad even tries sleeping in his room with him a couple of times.  Everything we try works once or twice, or sometimes even three times, but the nightmares always come roaring back.

 

I hear him before I’m even awake.  The violent jerk of his body, his hands fisting in the sheets, the small noise he makes in the back of his throat right before he starts to whimper.

 

“No, please, stop,” he mumbles.  I open my eyes to see him shaking his head, his face contorted with fear, his eyes tightly closed.

 

Pushing myself up on the cot, I shove my hair out of my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cold glass of the window as I gesture to his nurse to stay away from him.  He’s already gained enough of his strength back to hurt someone if he wanted to, and there’s nothing she can do for him right now anyway.  “Peeta,” I say, my voice thick with fatigue.  “It’s okay, Peeta.  I’m here.  You’re safe.  No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

 

He doesn’t hear me, though.  He can’t hear me.  The voices tormenting him in his head are too loud.  “No!” he begs, twisting and writhing on his bed.  “Please, stop!”

 

“Peeta!” I say, louder and more clearly this time.  “Peeta, wake up!  You’re safe, it’s only a nightmare!”

 

“Stop!” he cries, sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide as pie tins but not really seeing, his hands raking through his messy curls.  “Please, stop!”

 

Hot tears sting my eyes as I slap my palms against the glass, trying to get his attention.  “Peeta!  Wake up and look at me!  I love you, and I’m here with you!  You’re safe!”

 

“I’m calling Dr. Mullins,” I hear the nurse mutter under her breath.  She presses the call button on the wall and backs herself into the far corner, as far away from Peeta as possible while his raving becomes more and more frantic.

 

“No!  What did you do to her?  What did you do to my Katniss?”  He’s screaming now, tearing at his hair, staring at me through the window but not really seeing me.  It’s as if he thinks he’s looking at a false projection of me, instead of his real wife.

 

A sob lodges in my throat, making me choke as my heart thumps in my chest.  “Peeta, I’m here!  It’s okay!  Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real!  I’m real!  Look at me!”

 

His palm slams against the glass directly across from my own, his blue eyes blackened with fear.  “What did you do to her?  Where is she?  Where is my Katniss?  Why can’t she stay with me?”

 

Hatred rises up in my body, nearly engulfing me with its intensity.  This is all the Capitol’s doing, all Antonius’s doing.  He took my sweet, kind, boy with the bread and tortured and warped him into this frightened, paranoid shell of himself.  Gale told me just the other day that Antonius’s body had been found by rebel troops who’d entered the Capitol.  Apparently he suffered a fatal stroke, right there in his luxurious office in the Training Center.  Gale told me this thinking it would cheer me up, but the news only managed to make me angrier.  A cerebral hemorrhage was far too easy a death for someone like Antonius.

 

Peeta’s hand slams into the glass again, with such force that my forehead bumps against it.  “Please, just let me see her!  Let me touch her!  Please, I just need to touch her!”

 

“Peeta!” I sob as tears stream down my face.  “Peeta, please!”  But it’s no use.  To him I’m nothing more than an apparition on the other side of the glass, only an echo of his wife, someone he can’t touch to ensure that she’s real.  I finally cover my ears with my hands, trying to block out the strangling sounds of him screaming my name over and over.  “Don’t… please… stop… I can’t take it anymore!”

 

A large hand on my shoulder startles me, and I look up to see the worried eyes of my father, with Prim directly behind him, already suiting up to enter Peeta’s room.

 

“Katniss, why don’t you come with me for awhile—”

 

“No!” I say, shaking my head.  “I can’t leave him alone, Daddy.  I think that would make it worse.”

 

“Let her stay,” Prim says as she ties on her mask.  “I’m going in to talk to him.”

 

Peeta’s so entrenched in his nightmarish vision that the loud hissing noise accompanying Prim as she enters his room goes unnoticed.  He slams his right fist against the glass, and I watch in horror as his wrist buckles and he cries out in pain, cradling his arm against his chest.  The same arm that just came out of its cast.

 

“Peeta!” Prim commands, reaching for his shoulders.  “Peeta, stop hurting yourself!”

 

Her firm voice is enough to snap Peeta out of his rampage, and he sits back onto his bed, curling his shoulders around his injured arm as he looks up with wide eyes at my sister.  “Prim?  Is that you?”

 

“Yes, it’s me,” she says, in a slightly gentler voice.  Her gloved fingers wrap around his arm, pulling it away from his body and extending his fingers so she can examine them.  “What’s going on here, Peeta?  Why were you punching the glass?”

 

He shakes his head, and my throat tightens at the look on his face.  “I don’t—,”

 

“You had a nightmare?” Prim asks.

 

“Yeah, I guess.”  My heart breaks at the tone of his voice.  He sounds so ashamed.

 

“Was it about Katniss?” asks Prim, gingerly rotating his wrist back and forth.  He winces but doesn't cry out, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.  Things would only get worse if his hand had to go back in a cast again.

 

“Peeta?” Prim says when he doesn't answer.  “It might help if you talked about it.”

 

He turns his shoulders in, shaking his head in the exact same way he used to do when I’d inquire about a new set of bruises.  My lower lip starts to shake, and I hear my father let out a sigh behind me.

 

“No,” Peeta says.  “I don’t think so.”

 

Prim curls Peeta's fingers into his palm, then extends them back, examining each one.  “Katniss is here, Peeta.  She’s right there, if you want to talk to her.  She wants to help you.  She loves you.”

 

His tired blue eyes lock onto my face through the glass, shimmery with tears.  “Is she real?” he asks.

 

“Yes, she is,” Prim answers.  “She’s as real as I am.”

 

He shakes his head again, his long blond curls flopping over his forehead and into his eyes.  “Then why can't she stay with me?  Why can't I touch her?  The whole time I was in the Capitol, I couldn’t touch her.  I could see her, but she wasn’t real.  She was only real when I could touch her.”

 

Prim’s eyes flit to mine, and I shake my head.  Peeta and I haven’t discussed much of his imprisonment and torture.  We haven’t really had the chance to start working through any of it.  And, to be honest, I've been afraid to ask too many questions, for fear of upsetting him.

 

“When could you touch her?” asks Prim.

 

“When she came to take me away,” he replies in a small voice.  “When it was dark.”

 

My eyes squeeze closed as all the air in my lungs rushes out in one fell swoop.  I remember the night when we rescued him from the Training Center, the way his hand shook as it reached to touch my face, his voice laced with pain when he asked me if I was real.

 

And then, during his convalescence in the ICU, how his muscles would contract and his eyes would fill with fear if I wasn’t within reach of him, especially at night.  How his tense body would relax almost as soon as I touched him.  The afternoon when he sent me out hunting with Finnick must have been so difficult for him, since I was away from him for several hours, but you wouldn’t have known it.  Peeta has always been an expert at hiding his pain.

 

“Peeta,” says Prim.  “Did they tell you that Katniss wasn’t real?  When you were in the Capitol?”

 

He draws in a shaky breath.  “Not really… not like that.  Sometimes I’d see her, she’d be watching while they hurt me.  Or afterwards, when I was back in my cell.”  A tear rolls down his pale, clammy cheek.  “But she was always behind glass.  I could never touch her.  Because she wasn’t real.”

 

“They must’ve showed him some of the propo footage,” Dad whispers angrily, patting my shoulder.  “The tracker jacker venom makes you see all sorts of strange things, so the television screen could’ve made it seem to Peeta that you were behind glass.”

 

“Peeta,” says Prim as she releases his arm, apparently satisfied that he hadn’t re-broken anything.  She fetches an elastic bandage from a drawer by the bathroom and starts wrapping his wrist.  “We’re not in the Capitol anymore.  Right?”

 

“No,” Peeta replies.  “We’re in District Thirteen.”

 

Finished with the bandage, Prim sits down on the edge of Peeta’s bed, resting her hand on his shoulder.  “Do you trust me, Peeta?”

 

His blue eyes meet Prim’s over her mask.  “Yeah.”

 

“Then listen to me very carefully,” Prim says.  “Katniss is real.  She’s here with you, Peeta.  She’s as close to you as she can be without putting your baby at risk.  But she has to stay on the other side of the window because if she came in here, she could hurt the baby.  She needs to keep your baby safe.  Can you understand that?”

 

Another tear escapes down his cheek as his hands clench into fists.  “Then I can’t touch her.  How can she prove that she’s real if I can’t touch her?”

 

Prim looks at me, shrugging her shoulders in a silent plea for help.  “Maybe if she could talk to you?  About things that only she would know about?  Would that help you believe that she’s real?”

 

Peeta's eyes flit to me as he brushes the tear from his cheek.  “I don’t—, maybe… ”

 

“That’s a good idea, Katniss,” my father says, softly so only I can hear him.

 

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the blush creeping up my neck.  “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Good,” says Prim.

 

“Peeta,” I start, my voice quavering.  “Do you remember that cold, rainy afternoon in April, when I was eleven and you were twelve?  When your mom caught me looking through the rubbish bins behind the bakery?”

 

Peeta's eyes narrow and his jaw twitches as he studies my face.  “I remember Katniss in the rain.  She was soaked to the skin, and so thin, her jacket was hanging off of her.  She was sitting under the apple tree.”

 

Tears flood my eyes as my father’s fingers tighten on my shoulders.  Some of this won't be easy for him to hear. “That was me, Peeta.  Prim and Mom and I, we were starving, and you saw me through the window of the bakery.  You heard your mom yelling at me to go away, but I was so weak I couldn’t make myself move.”

 

“Katniss was dying,” Peeta says, looking away.  “It broke my heart to see her like that.”

 

“You pushed the bread loaves into the oven fire, Peeta,” I say.  “You burned them on purpose, and your mom hit you for it.  She told you to give them to the pig, but you threw them to me instead.  You saved us.”

 

Peeta swallows hard, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin, his eyes trained on the foot of his bed.  “I saw Katniss pick a dandelion in the schoolyard the next day.  And then a few days later, she brought me some ointment for my eye, that she made.”

 

“I would notice your eyes on me in school every day,” I say.  “You’d look at me, but when I’d catch your eye you’d look away.”

 

“She didn’t talk to me for a couple years after that.  But then one day in school, after my mom hit me again, she offered to bring me some more ointment.”

 

“I brought it to you on a Saturday, after Gale and I had already been by to trade at the bakery.  You were surprised to see me again.”

 

“She pushed the little pot into my hand, and her fingers brushed against mine for a few seconds.  I was smiling for the rest of the day afterwards.”

 

 _She._ I dig my fingernails into my palms as I breathe in deeply, trying to keep my face neutral.  _It’s not his fault.  This is not his fault._

 

“We became friends after that,” I continue.  “I remember when you painted your arm with leftover frosting to look like the bark on the apple tree.  When you pressed your arm against the tree, it completely disappeared.”

 

“I caught her watching my wrestling practices a few times,” he says, scratching at his cheek.  I hear a soft chuckle from my dad behind me.  “But I never said anything.  I didn’t want to embarrass her.”

 

“We used to spend time in the Meadow on the weekends.  You tried to teach me how to draw.”

 

Peeta’s lower lip twitches.  “I gave her my sketchbook on her sixteenth birthday.  She was always looking over my shoulder when I was drawing.”

 

 _That’s because I loved watching your hands move over the paper; they were so graceful.  And how the sunbeams filtered through your eyelashes._ “I tried to make you a cake for your seventeenth birthday,” I say.  “You ate the entire thing, and didn’t even tell me how awful it tasted until three weeks later.”

 

Peeta turns his head, his blue eyes boring into mine.  “That night was our first kiss.”

 

My heart flips in my chest.  “Yes, that’s right.  You were such a gentleman, Peeta.  You asked me first, before you kissed me.  Then, you walked me back to the Seam and asked Gale’s permission to court me.”  Dad lets out an audible breath, his fingers tightening briefly on my shoulders before he releases them and steps back.

 

The slightest of smiles lights on Peeta's lips.  “Gale didn’t like me very much,” he says.  “I think he tried to scare me away with his scowl.  But then he said yes because he knew that’s what you wanted.”

 

“Gale was suspicious of all the Merchant boys,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.  “Not just you.”  I leave out the part about how Gale and Rye used to get into fights all the time.  “I wasn’t cold for that whole night after you kissed me.”

 

“We used to spend Saturday afternoons in the Meadow,” he says.

 

“And sometimes in the woods,” I say.  “I taught you how to shoot with my bow and arrows.”

 

“I shot a squirrel,” he says, his lips stretching into a true smile.  “You were proud of me.”

 

“Yes, I was!” I say, my smile mirroring his as I remember what happened next.  “And then, about a month before you were taken, you asked me to toast with you.  You were so nervous, and you kept stumbling over your words.  And when I said yes, you were speechless.  It was the first time I’d ever seen you at a loss for what to say.”

 

Peeta’s head bobs up and down.  “We had to finish school first,” he says.  “We didn’t know where I’d be working after we graduated, but you said it didn’t matter.  We'd be happy as long as we had each other.”

 

I gulp back the retort on the tip of my tongue, shaking my head slightly.  Bannock, Peeta’s oldest brother, had already become apprenticed to the grocer, and married his younger daughter.  That meant Rye would inherit the bakery, since he was the next oldest.  Rye didn’t want the bakery, and tried to ask their father to pass it on to Peeta instead, but Mrs. Mellark was petty.  She told Peeta that if he insisted on marrying me, he would never have a chance to inherit the bakery.

 

The smile fades from Peeta’s face as his teeth catch on his bottom lip.  “And then, soon after, he came in the night.  The man dressed in black.  Rye and I, we shared a bedroom.  He tried to stop him…”  He draws in a shaky breath.  “And the bakery caught fire, and burned to the ground.”

 

A lone tear rolls down my cheek, and I press my palm to the glass.  “And I thought you were dead, and my heart was broken.  I remember… I found a dandelion near the wreckage.  And I picked it and brought it home, and I pressed it into the sketchbook.  So I could remember you.”

 

His large hand reaches for the glass, covering my own.  “The sketchbook that I gave you,” he says.

 

“Yes, Peeta,” I say.  I reach behind me, patting the cot until my fingers land on the worn, brown book.  I quickly flip it open, pulling out the bright yellow flower and holding it up to the glass.  “This is the dandelion that I picked, that day when I thought I’d lost you forever.”

 

He traces a fingertip over the flower before covering it with his palm.  “You used to call me your dandelion.”

 

“You are my dandelion, Peeta,” I murmur, choking back a sob.  You gave me the bread that saved my life, and you gave me the love that saved my heart.  I love you.  I always will.”

 

His blue eyes are shiny with tears as he rests his forehead against the glass.  “You’re my Katniss.  Real or not real?”

 

“Real,” I say.  “I am Katniss, and I’m your wife.”

 

“You’re carrying my baby.  Real or not real?”

 

I run my hand over my belly.  “Real.”

 

He squeezes his eyes closed, inhaling deeply.  “You love me.  Real or not real?”

 

“Real,” I whisper.  “I love you.  So very much.”

 

“Real,” he says, right before his face crumples and he starts to cry, his body shaking with the intensity of his sobs.  “Oh God, I wish I could hold you.  I wish it so much!  I don’t—, I don't know how much longer I can go without touching you!”

 

“I wish it too!” I cry.  “I wish it so badly.  No one else’s arms have ever made me feel as safe.  But we can’t.  We need to keep our baby healthy.  She’s gonna save you, Peeta.  She’s gonna make it so you’re well again.  We just need to make sure she’s kept safe until she can do that.”

 

Tears stream down his face in rivulets, dripping off the end of his chin.  “I know.  But after, I’m never letting go of you again.  I’m not letting go of either of you.  And we're gonna leave this place and go home.  Real or not real?”

 

“Real,” I say.  “We’ll take our daughter and go home, back to Twelve.  Where you can paint and I can hunt and we can sleep with the windows open.”

 

“Because no matter how cold it gets, I can keep you warm,” he murmurs.  “Real or not real?”

 

I said that to him while we were in the cave, during the worst of the blizzard.

 

“Real.”

 

“Real,” he echoes.  “You’re real.”

 

“Yes, I’m real.”

 

Prim pushes a tissue into his hand, and he blots his eyes, palming the window with his other hand.  “Will you stay with me?”

 

I press my lips to the glass, imagining that I’m kissing his forehead instead.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Do you want to try and sleep some more, Peeta?” asks Prim.

 

A flash of fear lights his eyes before he nods, stretching out on his bed with his hand still touching the window.  “Yeah, okay.”

 

“I’ll be here,” I whisper.  I bring my hand to cover his, shivering slightly from the frigid glass.  “Right here next to you.”

 

“Thank you, love,” he says.  “I’m—, I’m sorry I woke you.”

 

Of course he would worry about waking me.  “Oh, don't be sorry, Peeta,” I say, a fresh set of tears falling from my eyes as I lie down on the cot.  “Please don’t be sorry.  And don't be afraid.  There’s the two of us.  We can handle anything as long as we're together.”

 

“Together.”  He sniffs, nodding his head against his pillow.  “I love you, Katniss.  Goodnight.”

 

I watch as Prim covers him with his blanket and pats him on the shoulder before exiting his room.  “Well done, Primrose,” Dad whispers as she pulls off her mask.  “I wasn’t sure how we’d get through that for awhile.”

 

Prim lets out a sigh, her shoulders sagging.  “I didn’t really do all that much.  And really, I should’ve seen this coming.  Both Peeta and Rye have suffered such terrible traumas, they should be talking to someone about them.  Someone a lot better than I am at handling this sort of thing.”  She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest.  “But Dr. Mullins told me that District Thirteen hasn’t had to deal with anything like this since the Dark Days, so there’s no one here who’s qualified.”

 

“Maybe when we get them to the Capitol we can look into some resources for them,” Dad says.  “I doubt they’re the only ones who could use that kind of help.  Hell, even your mom could use some help.  Not to mention all the people from Twelve who experienced the bombing.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Prim agrees.  “Beetee’s already started to vet the medical personnel at the largest hospital in the Capitol, so I'll have him start looking for a mental health expert as well.”

 

“Is Peeta's hand okay?” I ask.  “He hit the window pretty hard.”

 

“It should be fine in a couple of days,” Prim says as she covers a yawn.  “There might be a slight sprain to his wrist, but his hand and fingers are okay.  They’re still just weak from being in the cast.”

 

I breathe out a sigh of relief.  Re-breaking his hand would not aid Peeta’s mental health at all.  “Thank you, Prim.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she says through another yawn.  “I'll come back and check on you in the morning, Katniss.”

 

“I will as well, songbird,” says Dad.  “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight,” I whisper as they leave, my hands cupping my belly under the blankets as our daughter starts to wiggle.  I look over at Peeta.  He’s sleeping, but it's not a peaceful sleep.  There's a furrow to his brow, and a tiny frown between his eyebrows that lately doesn't even go away while he's awake.

 

Neither one of us will be at peace until we can be together again.  

 

Our daughter gives another kick, stronger this time.  It’s as if she’s trying to comfort me, telling me that she’s preparing for what we’re asking of her.  That she knows what’s at stake.

 

We shouldn’t be having to ask such a thing from such a tiny, otherwise helpless person.  But she’s letting me know, in her own way, that she’s ready.

 

“I feel you, little one,” I murmur.  “I feel you in there, wiggling and kicking and getting strong.  Your daddy and I are getting excited to meet you.”

 

She replies with yet another kick, and I rub my palm in circles over the spot, imagining I’m rubbing her back instead.  I let out a long breath, biting my bottom lip as I picture the three of us cuddling in our bed back in District 12, with the smells of fresh bread permeating throughout our home.  Away from this cold, grey place with its ugly clothes and ugly food.  Away from all the sickness and pain.  Away from the war.

 

 _Someday,_ I think.   _Someday we’ll get there._

 

But, not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always eager to hear what you think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to thank stjohn27 for prereading this chapter for me, and for talking through some of the plot points with me. Thank you for being such a wonderful cheerleader!
> 
> If I haven't been able to make it clear already, this version of Panem is very patriarchal, and the character of Carter is, among other things, a chauvinistic pig, bordering on misogynistic. He is a character that is supposed to be very intensely disliked. ;) 
> 
>  This chapter contains some sexual content, at least as much as can be when our lovers are separated by a glass wall. :(

Five months doesn’t sound all that long when you say it.  I once thought Peeta was dead for longer than that, after the bakery was destroyed, and there were plenty of times during those months when I wasn’t sure how I would get through another day.  How I would survive without seeing him, smelling him, touching him.  Watching his eyes light up as they catch mine.  Smelling the cinnamon on his skin and the flour in his hair.  Feeling his warm breath against my neck, and his lips against mine.

 

Here, I can see him.  He’s right there, through the window.  During the day when Peeta’s awake and I’m in the room, our eyes barely leave each other.  It’s as if we have to constantly remind ourselves that the other is there, because we can’t reach out and touch each other.

 

My sister, of course, did some research on this topic.  While it seems obvious that human beings enjoy and even come to crave both platonic and non-platonic touching, what Prim discovered is that touch is a powerful tool for both a person’s physical and mental well-being.  Frequent physical touch can lower a person’s heart rate and blood pressure and help reduce anxiety, all of which are beneficial to both Peeta and Rye.  Even if the hugs and handshakes and shoulder rubs have to be felt through the plastic of a pair of medical gloves, or a set of sterile, disposable clothing, they’re at least better than nothing.

 

And Prim makes sure that I’m not left out.  She insists that having a routine will help with the tediousness of the long days and nights, so she set up a strict schedule for me to follow.  Wake up.  Eat breakfast.  Watch Peeta during his morning physical therapy session.  Take a walk while he showers.  Eat lunch.  Go hunting while Peeta naps.  Watch Peeta’s afternoon therapy session.  Take another walk.  Eat dinner.  Watch Peeta while he plays chess with Haymitch or cards with Thom and Rory.  Take a final walk while Peeta gets ready for bed.  Lights out.

 

The routine does help.  Just as Peeta gets his rotation of visitors, I get my rotation of people that accompany me on my walks, which oftentimes includes Poppy and Aster.  Gale, Rory, Finnick, and my father all take turns joining me while I hunt.  Finnick even teaches me how to spear fish in a small lake that we discover one afternoon, using a trident that Beetee made for him.  Finnick enjoys our outdoor excursions almost as much as I do, since now that the war is winding down, he and Annie have little to do besides dream about returning home.

 

Prim also tries to include Peeta when she examines the baby, even to the point of wheeling the ultrasound machine down to our room so he can see her on the screen.  We also start discussing possible names.

 

Nights remain difficult.  Peeta still wakes up every now and then convinced that I’m not his real wife, that I’m only a projection designed to aid in his torture.  Sometimes I’m able to talk him down, and sometimes I have to call in Prim and my father for backup.  Thankfully, none of his episodes ever get as bad as that one time, but it’s still hard to watch him go through so much pain and be unable to truly help him.

 

I raise my arms up over my head, stretching as I let out a soft groan.  My round belly is making finding a comfortable sleeping position more and more interesting as the nights pass, and I’ve been waking up with some stiffness in my lower back lately.

 

Turning my head, I see that Peeta is still asleep, his right hand resting on the ledge under the window on his side.  We try and fall asleep each night with our hands in the same position.  As close as we can be without touching each other.

 

I push myself up to my feet, padding over to the sink to brush my teeth and attempt to brush out my hair, which often resembles a messy rat’s nest after all the tossing and turning during the night.  I’ve just managed to get all the tangles out and braided it back when the door opens behind me and Prim and Dad walk in, bearing my breakfast tray.

 

“Good morning, songbird,” Dad says as he draws me into a hug.  “How did you sleep?”

 

I shrug in response, sitting back down on the cot to eat under the watchful eye of my sister.  She’s unhappy with the rate of my weight gain, but knows it’s pointless to try and get me to eat any more than I already do.  The baby will take what she needs from me regardless of how many bowls of the tasteless porridge I manage to consume.

 

“President Coin’s called a meeting this morning,” Dad says.  “Rumor has it she’s going to announce the end of the war.”

 

The hint of tension in his voice causes me to pause mid-chew, my eyebrows raised in question.  “Isn’t that a good thing?” I ask.

 

Frowning, Dad shakes his head.  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?  I mean, it seemed obvious once the Nut was taken out that the Capitol really had no means to continue the fight.  The only options left involved the use of nuclear missiles, which would only invite retaliation, and then no one would win.”  He pinches his chin between his finger and thumb.  “I don’t know, though.  Something just doesn’t feel right to me.  It seems to be wrapping up way too neatly for my taste.”

 

Any response I might’ve made is interrupted by Peeta calling my name.  “Katniss?”

 

“Hey,” I say, crawling up right next to the window, my palm flat against the glass.  My heart does a flip as I take in his bright blue eyes and mussed hair.  Even as sick as he is, he’s still so incredibly handsome that sometimes I have trouble remembering to breathe when I look at him.  “Good morning.”

 

“Hey,” he whispers, bringing his large hand up to the glass, covering my own.  “You look beautiful today.”

 

The sincerity in his voice makes me blush, and I drop my gaze, leaning my forehead against the window.  I’m never quite sure how to respond when he says things like that.  Even after all this time.

 

“Good morning, Peeta,” Prim says, walking over to the window.  “How did you sleep?”

 

Peeta shrugs, an almost perfect imitation of mine from a few minutes ago.  “Not horribly,” he says, which is about as good as it gets around here.

 

“That’s good,” replies Prim.  “Because this afternoon we’re going to be trying out some new things with your therapy.”

 

“Sounds good,” Peeta says, punctuating his sentence with another shrug as his nurse hands him his breakfast.  Everything Peeta eats has to be sterilized—either by boiling or with chemicals—before he’s able to touch it, leaving it with even less flavor than it had to begin with.  

 

He’s been doing quite well with his therapy lately, at least.  The squeezing ball Prim gave him when he first got his cast off has since been replaced by a smaller one, which shows that his hand is getting stronger.  He’s also been able to walk the length of the parallel bars on his own for the past few days, using both of his arms.  He still has a pronounced limp, but his injured leg doesn’t shake as badly as it used to when he bears weight on it.

 

“Finish your breakfast, Katniss,” Prim says.  “The meeting starts in twenty minutes.”

 

I don’t bother asking why my presence is required at such a meeting.  I gave up on trying to understand Coin a long time ago.  Turns out the entire population, except those needed for essential jobs, is required to attend.  Once I manage to choke down the rest of my breakfast, I say goodbye to Peeta and follow my father and sister out of the ICU.  We’re joined by my mother, leading a group of mobile patients down to the Collective, a huge open area that easily holds the thousands of grey-clad people who show up.  In fact, it seems to be built for an even larger gathering.

 

Finnick manages to find us through the crowd, with Annie clinging tightly to his hand as he leads her over.  “Do you know what this meeting’s about?” Finnick asks.  “Johanna said she didn’t know, only that we were supposed to be here.”

 

“Dad says Coin’s going to announce the Capitol’s surrender,” I tell him.  Annie’s face lights up at my words.

 

“Oh, maybe that means we can go home soon!” she says.  She looks around sheepishly, as if to make sure she wasn’t overheard.  “I mean, not that this place isn’t… but still.  I miss home.”

 

“I think we all do,” Finnick says, patting her hand.  “District Four is just… different than here.  I’m sure you guys feel the same about Twelve.”

 

”Yeah.  We do.”

 

I never thought I’d miss my home district so much, with its rough cobblestone streets, run-down homes and businesses, and the thick layer of coal dust that settled on every flat surface.  Not to mention the constant worry about having enough to eat.  But at least I could escape to the woods every day, even if it was technically illegal.  And we could see the sky, and birds, and trees.  And we weren’t breathing air that had been scrubbed through an air handling system and eating genetically engineered food grown in underground farms.

 

And from what Finnick’s told me about Four during our hunts, you couldn’t get much more different than here.  Warm and sunny, with beaches of fine sand and the smell of salt in the air.  Never having to worry about snow.  Catching your own food.  Sea birds cawing to each other as they fly overhead, and the sound of waves crashing to lull you to sleep at night.  

 

No wonder he and Annie miss it so much.  Compared to this place, District 4 sounds like a paradise.

 

President Coin appears at the railing two levels up, holding up her hands to silence the crowd, with Boggs and Plutarch standing off to one side.  She’s flanked by two large screens that project her image—in order for everyone to see her better, I suppose—and I can't help but notice that she’s trimmed her hair since I last saw her.  Her grey uniform is a bit different too, more tailored and formal-looking, with brightly polished buttons.  Her icy grey eyes look around the room as the people grow quiet, sending a shiver down my spine as they seem to lock with mine for a moment before flitting away.

 

“Welcome,” she begins.  “Thank you all for adjusting your schedules for this important announcement.”

 

 _As if we had a choice?_  Dad must sense my unease, because his hand slips up to cover my shoulder.  Coin pauses before she continues, allowing the faint murmuring among the crowd to die down.

 

“I am happy to announce that I have recently accepted terms of surrender from the Capitol,” she continues, her voice strong and proud.  “Pending the finalization of a few minor details, the ratification of these terms will effectively conclude the war.”  She pauses, presumably for dramatic effect.  “We have won!”

 

A raucous cheer erupts from the audience, causing me to jump and Annie to cover her ears with her hands, dropping her head against Finnick’s chest.  Finnick wraps his arms around her, gathering her close and patting her back, his brow furrowed in suspicion.  Behind me, I hear my father let out a sharp breath, his hand squeezing my shoulder as he hugs my mother close.  

 

Something's not right.

 

Coin holds up her hands, asking again for silence.  “I know that some of you may be eager to return to your home districts.  It is an understandable sentiment.  However, we must first concentrate our efforts on rooting out any possible pockets of resistance to this new peace before any attempt at rebuilding can commence.  I therefore ask for patience from all of you while we work together to rebuild this country.  As we all have realized, it is quite easy to destroy things, and quite difficult to rebuild them.  I thank you for your attention.  You may now resume your daily schedules.”

 

There's more applause as the people disperse, back to the kitchens or hydroponic rooms, or the armories.  Mom gives Dad a kiss, patting me on the shoulder before leading her patients back to the hospital along with Prim.  But Finnick, Annie, Dad, and I make no effort to move.

 

“Daddy,” I whisper, the footfalls of the departing crowd muffling my words.  “What does all that mean?”

 

Dad shakes his head, his grey eyes narrowed and his jaw tight.  “I don’t know exactly, songbird.” He glances quickly at Finnick.  “All I know, is that it didn’t sound quite right to me.”

 

“There’s been no mention at all of a surrender in any of our meetings lately,” Finnick adds.

 

“Exactly,” Dad says.  “I mean, Coin has mentioned that the war would be over soon several times over the last few weeks.  But this seems to have come out of nowhere.  Has anyone even seen these terms of surrender?”

 

Finnick raises his eyebrows.  “I know I haven’t, and I would guess that Beetee and Haymitch haven't either.  Maybe Boggs, but I can’t imagine him hiding something like this from us.  And Plutarch would be busy dreaming up ways to spin it if he knew.”

 

The crowd is now nearly gone, and I shift on my feet, eager to get back to Peeta.  “Daddy—“

 

“Quite right, Katniss,” Dad replies.  “This isn’t really the best place to be discussing this.”  He nods at Finnick.  “We’ll, ah, see you guys later, yeah?”

 

Finnick nods, a look of understanding washing over his face.  “Yeah.  That sounds good.  He smiles down at me, revealing the dimple in his cheek.  “Later, Girl on Fire.”

 

“What was that about?” I ask Dad as we walk back towards the hospital.  “With you and Finnick?”

 

“Not here, Katniss,” Dad says, his hand on my back to guide me along.  “I promise I'll explain everything, but not here.  Not now.”  He looks over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitted together.  “I need to figure a few things out first.”

 

“But—“

 

“You, Peeta, and the baby are perfectly safe,” he tells me, trying to sound reassuring.

 

“What does that mean?” I exclaim.  “Are other people not going to be perfectly safe?  What about Mom and Prim?”

 

Dad huffs out a breath, pulling me in for a tight hug.  “They’re fine too, songbird.  I'll make sure of that with my dying breath, if it comes down to it.”

 

“Then, what—?”

 

“All I know is that this surrender announcement hasn’t been hinted at any of the recent meetings in Command,” Dad says.  “And that’s just not like President Coin.  She’s always been very forthcoming with any information involving the rebellion.  It’s not like her to spring something like this upon us.”

 

We’ve reached the ICU.  I see Peeta through the door, working on the parallel bars with Andrea and Prim.  He must sense my eyes on him because he looks up, flashing me a tired smile.  I force myself to smile back, not wishing for him to see me upset.

 

“Try not to worry, songbird,” Dad says, kissing the top of my head.  “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

Yeah, right.  Like I can just snuff my concerns like I’m putting out a fire.  I look through the window, watching as Prim helps Peeta back to his bed.  “I won’t,” I say.

 

Dad smiles and nods, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.  He and I both know it’s a lie.

 

“You look worried, love,” Peeta says, sitting forward on his bed, his squishy ball clutched tightly in his right palm.  “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” I say, a little too quickly.  “Just tired.”

 

“Hmm,” Peeta says, glancing at my father.  “Okay.”

 

“How’s it going today, son?” Dad asks, stepping over to the glass.  “You looked pretty good on those bars just a minute ago.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Peeta says, shrugging.  “It’s getting a bit easier each time.  And Prim says I’m gonna try writing my name out this afternoon.”

 

“Oh, that’s good!” I say, trying to sound as pleased as I should at this wonderful news.  If he can get to the point where he can draw again, it will help tremendously with his anxiety and restlessness.  “Peeta, that’s great!”

 

“We’re going to start out slowly,” says Prim.  “Just his name at first.  We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.”

 

“But still,” I say to Peeta.  “It’s great that you’ve gotten to the point where you’re ready for something like that.”

 

“He’s a hard worker,” Prim says, exiting the pressurized room with a loud hiss and a whoosh of air.  “He and Rye both are.”

 

“How is Rye, Prim,” Peeta asks as she peels the gloves from her hands.

 

“He’s doing all right,” she replies, sighing.  “I've been having him do some physical therapy too, to make sure he gets out of bed on a regular basis.  And I make sure he gets some visitors.  Delly and Thom are in there with him right now, in fact.  I’m heading down there next.”

 

A pained expression crosses Peeta’s face.  “Thank you, Prim,” he says.  “Thank you for making sure he's being looked after.”

 

A slight flush creeps up Prim’s cheeks.  “Rye’s doing fine, Peeta.  He’s gonna get through this, same as you.”

 

“Yeah,” Peeta whispers.  He squeezes the ball in his fist, his hand shaking with the effort.  “I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

_“What does the fact that I’m a woman have anything to do with this?” Alma Coin asks, her eyes narrowing into slits as she leans closer to her screen.  “I have been the President of this district for over twenty years!  I am more than capable of leading this country!”_

 

_Hot fury rises up in Carter’s chest, and he clenches his teeth, mentally kicking himself for not asking for a clearer identity of Thirteen before agreeing to all of this.  If he’d known Thirteen was a woman, it’s highly unlikely he would have agreed to accept the second-in-command position, his lack of qualifications be damned._

 

_“It is a fact that should have been made clear,” Carter replies, trying to control his anger.  “There will be resistance in the Capitol to a female Prime Minister, and I would hate for that resistance to put a damper on what we are going to accomplish.”_

 

_Coin waves a dismissive hand.  “The Capitol citizens, and the district citizens, for that matter, will accept their new government without question.  If they choose to complain, we will make it clear that there will be consequences, both public and severe.  Severe enough to deter any further complaints.”_

 

_Carter nods, his neutral expression hiding the fact that his fingernails are digging into his palms.  Of all the things to forget to ask…_

 

_“Very well,” he says.  He straightens his shoulders, clearing his throat.  “Now then. I wish to discuss the handling of several individuals that I have identified as war criminals.”_

 

_If Coin is surprised by his statement, she doesn’t show it.  “Very well.”_

 

_“First of all,” Carter begins.  “There is a Capitol clothing designer by the name of Cinna who provided aid to various rebels, including the Mockingjay.”  He taps his finger on the pile of papers next to him.  “I have had him arrested, and he is currently awaiting trial.”_

 

_“I want to stipulate that all accused war criminals be brought before a military tribunal,” Coin says.  “Civilians should not have jurisdiction over military matters.”_

 

_“That is appropriate,” Carter agrees after a short pause, penciling a note on his paper.  He pushes his glasses up his nose.  “There are a few other Capitol citizens that I have had arrested for various things, and a few others I have yet to locate.  But the majority of these individuals are district citizens.”  He leans forward, his lips stretching into a thin smile.  “And most of them are currently residing in District Thirteen.”_

 

_“I see,” Coin says, her thin lips pressed tightly together.  “I will require a copy of this list you have developed.”_

 

_“I’ll send it along once we’re done speaking,” Carter replies.  “Along with copies of the plans I have laid out for the restructuring and rebuilding of the districts.”_

 

_“Fine,” Coin says, her eyebrow twitching as she pulls up her sleeve, reading something written on her forearm.  “Then, if there is nothing further, my presence is required elsewhere.”_

 

_“Very well, Prime Minister,” Carter says.  “We will speak more on this tomorrow.”_

 

_“Tomorrow,” Coin echoes, before hitting the button to sever their electronic connection._

 

_Carter stares at his screen for several minutes after it goes blank, flexing his cramped fingers.  It’s going to be difficult for him, taking orders from a woman.  He will do it if it means that his dream for Panem will become a reality, but that doesn’t mean the thought won’t make him cringe from time to time._

 

_There doesn’t appear to be anything soft about her, at least.  She was in charge of a district that, for all intents and purposes, should’ve died out a long time ago, and that kind of leadership doesn’t just develop overnight.  She obviously has people who are loyal to her, who will follow her without question._

 

_That is good.  It will make his job a lot easier._

 

_Satisfied for the moment, Carter pulls up the documents they discussed, sending them to Madam Coin on a secured, FOR EYES ONLY channel.  He expects there will be much discussion to follow once Coin reads them over, and if he’s honest, he’s looking forward to it.  The more he and Coin are able to speak the more he can gauge if she’ll be what he needs going forward.  If she’s hungry enough for the power she so desperately seeks to comply with all of his demands._

 

_And if not, if she insists on protecting those criminals in the districts who caused so much damage to the Capitol, both physically and emotionally, then he’ll find a way to get rid of her and find someone else._

 

_After all, he’s done it before._

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I missed your birthday,” Peeta murmurs into the darkness, the only other sounds being the hum of the air recycler and the soft snoring from his nurse on a chair in the far corner.  With Peeta and Rye well enough to no longer require hands-on nursing care during the night, their night nurses can pretty much spend the entire shift sleeping if they so choose.

 

“It’s okay, Peeta,” I say.  “I didn’t even realize it myself until Dad told me.”  I look up at the grey ceiling, my eyes following the shadows thrown across it from Peeta's monitors.  “All the days tend to run together in here.”

 

“I didn’t get you anything,” he says.  “I didn’t bake you a cake.  I didn’t even wish you a happy birthday.”  He lets out a frustrated sigh.  “What the hell kind of husband am I?”

 

“You got your cast off,” I say, propping myself up on my elbow, wishing so badly that I could brush the hair out of his eyes.  “That was enough of a gift.  And you can make me a cake next year.  When we’re home.”

 

“Yeah,” he answers, his lips quirking into a slight smile.  “When we’re home.”

 

We stare at each other for a few minutes, until baby girl gives me a strong kick.  I wince, pressing my palm to my belly.

 

“Are you all right, love?” Peeta asks, concern filling his blue eyes.

 

She kicks again, apparently dissatisfied with my current positioning.  I roll further onto my side, adjusting the pillow between my knees.  “I’m fine.  She’s just moving around quite a bit,” I say, grimacing as she kicks a third time.  “She’s strong, like her daddy.”

 

“Like her mommy,” he corrects with a shake of his head.  “You’re the strongest person I know, Katniss.”

 

“Like us both,” I say, pressing my palm to the window, smiling when he does the same.

 

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs, his eyes hooded and glassy in the dim light.  “What I wouldn’t give to be able to touch you right now.”

 

“Mmm,” I say, closing my eyes and imagining his strong hands rubbing the soreness from my feet and legs, and running over my belly as our daughter kicks her hellos.  Those hands that tuck my hair behind my ears, and cup my cheeks before he leans in to kiss me.  Those hands that have explored every inch of my body, and brought me to such dizzying heights of pleasure.

 

I’m starving for them.  For his touch.

 

My heart thumps erratically, and I inhale a shaky breath, grateful for the darkness to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks.  “Peeta?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What would you do, if you could?” I ask, surprising myself.  I've never been one for sexy talk, even when we were in the cave.  I guess it’s easier to be bold here, in the dark.  With a glass wall between us.

 

I sense more than see his smile, because my eyes are still tightly closed.  “You mean, how would I touch you?”

 

A jolt of electricity snaps through my body, and I let out a soft gasp at its intensity.  “Yeah.  Can you tell me?”

 

“Well,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his voice sending another lightning bolt through me.  “I’d start with your face, first.  I love tracing my fingertips across your forehead, along your gorgeous cheekbones, and down the curve of your jaw.  You always make this adorable tiny noise when I do that.  Like you’re skipping a breath.”

 

“Uh huh,” I whisper, my flushed skin prickling with need.  “Then what?”

 

I hear him suck in a breath.  “I’d bury my fingers into your hair and kiss your exquisite lips.  I’d kiss you long and hard, until we need to come up for air, and then work my way down to your neck.  I’d find that spot that always makes you whimper.  You have such a beautiful neck, my love.  And your skin tastes incredible.”

 

“Ohh,” I breathe out.  I can almost feel him, feel what he’s describing to me.  “Peeta, don’t stop.”

 

“I love the feel of your hair between my fingers, Katniss.  It’s so soft, like silk, and it smells so good.  Like lavender, and willow trees.”

 

“Yours always smells like flour,” I say.  “And your skin smells like cinnamon, and tastes like honey.”

 

There's a rustle of bedclothes before he continues.  “And then you’d push my head down towards your collarbones,” he says.  “And I’d slide my hand up under your shirt, and drag it up your smooth back.  And you’d tug on my hair right before I pull your shirt over your head.”

 

“Peeta,” I whimper.  My breath is coming in stilted gasps, and I press my palms to my cheeks, trying to cool myself down.  “I can feel it.  I can feel your hands on me.  Please, don’t stop!”

 

“You’re so incredibly beautiful, my love,” he whispers.  “I’d just stare at you in awe all day long if you’d let me.  But then you’d get impatient and yank on my shirt.  You told me you love the way I take my shirt off.”

 

“You tug it off from the back,” I say.  “It always musses up your hair, and I love it.”

 

“Your skin feels so good against mine, Katniss,” he moans.  “Your lips on my neck and your hands roaming over my chest and down to my abs.  Please, don’t stop!”

 

“ _Peeta,”_ I whimper.  My hands reach to palm my heavy breasts through my pajama shirt.  “Please…”

 

“Katniss!” he says, and I force my eyes open at his almost desperate tone.  He’s lying flat on his bed, his pajama pants pulled down and his right hand wrapped around his erection, slowly stroking up and down.  The sight of it makes me squeeze my thighs together as another wave of pleasure ripples through me.  “Oh God, I need you!”

 

“Pretend it's me, Peeta,” I whisper.  “Pretend it’s my hands on you, making you feel good.”  

 

“You feel incredible, love,” he rasps, biting his bottom lip.  “I love you so much.”

 

“I’m so warm, Peeta,” I moan.  I can almost feel his hot breath on my skin, his lips peppering my neck with tiny kisses, his hands crushing me against him.  “You’ve got me so warm.  I need you!”

 

A shuddering groan rumbles up from his chest as his eyes squeeze closed.  “Fuck, Katniss, I’m gonna come.  You're gonna make me come.  Please, love, come with me!”

 

“Ah,” I stutter.  “I can't.  I can't without you.”

 

“Yes, you can.  Touch yourself.”  His hand on his cock pauses as he turns his head to look at me, his blackened eyes boring through the window and into my soul.  “Like I touch you.  Please, love, I want to watch you.”

 

My teeth catch on my bottom lip as I shake my head.  “I don’t—, I don’t know how.”

 

I know the general mechanics of it, of course.  Growing up with a healer for a mother you learn all sorts of things, whether you want to or not.  And Peeta brought me to climax that way several times while we were in the cave, just like he showed me how to bring him to completion with my hands.  But I’ve never tried it on myself.  I’ve never really had any privacy to do so.

 

“Just slide your hand under your waistband and touch yourself,” he murmurs.  “I bet you’re so ready for me.  Aren’t you, my love?”

 

I inhale a shaky breath, bringing my hand under my round belly to slip beneath the waistband of my pants and underwear.  A soft squeak escapes my throat as my fingers find my soaking wet center.  “Yes, Peeta,” I whisper through my gasps.  “I’m ready for you.  I’m ready for you to love me.”

 

“That’s it, Katniss,” he says.  “Just like that, love.  Pretend it's me who’s touching you.  Find the place that makes you cry out my name.  Fuck, you look so beautiful!”

 

“Peeta!” I cry as my fingertip brushes against that very spot.  I circle it with my finger, biting down hard on my lip as the flames of pleasure lick higher and higher, the coil in my belly winding tighter and tighter, until it suddenly snaps.  I arch my back, my mouth dropping open in a silent cry as I shudder, the waves of pleasure washing through me.  It’s so powerful I barely hear Peeta’s muffled groan as he comes, chanting my name through his release.

 

We’re both quiet for several minutes as we come down from our highs, reveling in our separate yet shared pleasures.  We both roll towards each other at the same time, bringing our hands to the glass as we smile shyly at each other.  Peeta’s hair is disheveled, and his pale face is flushed and covered with a thin layer of sweat.  He’s never looked more handsome.

 

“Oh, that was hot,” Peeta whispers.  “I love you, Katniss.”

 

“I love you, too,” I murmur.

 

We both bring our fingers to our lips before pressing them against the glass again.  It’s our way of kissing each other.  “Sleep now, love,” he says.  “And I will too.”

 

“‘Kay,” I say sleepily.  “Goodnight.”

 

Neither of us have any nightmares that night.

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass.  My belly grows even larger.  I have to stand with my shoulders pushed back to keep myself balanced now, and when I lie down I can watch my stomach move with the baby’s kicks.  I'll never forget the look of joy on Peeta’s face the first time he was able to see it.

 

Peeta practices writing his name over and over again until his hand shakes from exhaustion.  At first the letters resemble that of a small child’s, large and shaky.  But he persists, and soon enough his writing isn’t too far off from what it used to be.  One day he starts doodling small pictures in the corners of his papers.  Flowers and stars, and my name surrounded by hearts, just like he used to do in school.  With the lack of art supplies in Thirteen there's no way for him to attempt to paint, so I promise him one of the first things we’ll get for him once we get to the Capitol is a set of paints and paintbrushes.  He’s never had real paint to work with, only crushed berry juice and the very occasional bit of leftover frosting.

 

There’s been no further news about the war since President Coin announced the surrender.  The propaganda machine has all but ground to a halt, and more than once I've found Plutarch wandering about the halls of the district, mumbling to himself with his brow furrowed.  

 

My father still comes by every evening to check on us both, but otherwise I hardly see him.  When he does stop by I can tell he's distracted, but he refuses to tell me what’s going on.  Prim tells me he meets often with Haymitch and Gale, and a few others, and they speak in whispers too quiet to overhear.

 

I’m trudging along a usually unused corridor one afternoon during Peeta's nap when my father suddenly appears in front of me.  “Katniss,” he says, his jaw tight.  “I need you to come with me.”

 

My heart drops into my stomach at his grim voice.  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

 

Dad shakes his head, looking around as if to ensure we’re not being overheard.  “I'll explain everything, songbird, but you need to come with me.”

 

Taking my hand, Dad leads me to a room I've never seen before.  It smells musty, with a thick layer of dust covering every surface, and cobwebs decorating every corner.  Boggs, Beetee, Gale, Finnick, Johanna, Jedrek, Haymitch, and Plutarch are all there, determination etched on their faces, masking their fear.

 

“What’s this?” I ask.

 

“I need you to listen to us very carefully, Katniss,” Dad says, ignoring my question.  “What we’re about to tell you is going to come as a bit of a shock.”

 

Gulping, I nod.  “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Dad says, huffing out a breath.  He glances at Haymitch.  “Why don’t you start, yeah?”

 

“Sure,” Haymitch says.  He runs his stiffened fingers through his hair.  “Um, well, I guess the beginning is as good as anywhere.”  He breathes in deeply, shaking his head.  “When I showed up here all those years ago, angry and starving and ready to take on the Capitol single-handedly, I never imagined that it would come to this.”

 

My heart’s thumping erratically, and I press my palm to my chest, trying to calm down.  “What do you mean?”

 

“Ever since President Coin announced the surrender, she’s been shutting us out,” Haymitch continues.  “All of us. Even Boggs, who she once said she trusted implicitly.  None of us have been told the details of the surrender, or any of the details regarding the rebuild of the districts, or even who she’s been talking to in the Capitol all this time.  Ever since the announcement, our usual meetings have been covering strictly District Thirteen business and nothing more.”

 

“It’s not like her at all, Katniss,” Boggs says in his deep voice.  “President Coin has always been very forthcoming with information regarding the rebellion.  For that flow of information to completely stop is very unusual.”

 

“So, what do you think happened?” I ask, more than a little impatient.  Peeta will be waking up soon, and I don’t want him to get upset because I’m not there.

 

Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.  “One of the things that made me want to stick around here was Coin’s drive to take down the Capitol.  Her vision for Panem was one of unity.  Of everyone working together for the good of themselves and the country.  Unfortunately, that vision seems to have become skewed over the years.”

 

“To now mean only the good of the country, and a select few individuals,” adds Plutarch, his customary smirk absent from his portly face.  “From what we’ve discovered, the government that Coin is attempting… well, let’s just say it would make you long for the years before the revolution.”

 

I let out a soft gasp as my eyes widen, and Dad wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close.  I can’t imagine going back under the rule of the sadistic Peacekeepers, being forced to work our fingers to the bone for practically nothing, and living in fear that my children would be taken from our home during the night and forced to—.  “No,” I whisper, clutching my rounded belly.  “That can’t happen!”

 

“It won’t, Catnip,” says Gale.  “Not if we have anything to say about it.”  His steely grey eyes narrow in defiance. “Madge is pregnant too, we just found out a week ago.  And I'll be damned if I'll allow my child to grow up in the world that Coin’s envisioning.”

 

“Okay,” I say, my head spinning with all this information.  “That’s all well and good.  But why are you telling me this?  What can I do about it?”  My jaw drops open as realization dawns.  “Peeta's in danger. Isn’t he?”

 

The pause that follows seems to stretch on interminably, with everyone averting their eyes.  Finally, my father looks at me.  “Yes, Katniss, he is.  He and Rye are both in danger.  As are you.”

 

“Me?” I exclaim.  “Why me?”

 

“Because you’re the Mockingjay,” says Plutarch.  “You were the face of the revolution.”

 

“I didn’t have a choice!” I protest.  “Coin made it a condition of rescuing Peeta!”

 

“We all know that, Katniss,” says Boggs.  “But now she’s going to use you being the Mockingjay as a reason to label you as a war criminal.”

 

“War criminal?”

 

“Yes,” says Finnick.  “And it's already begun.  Annie told me yesterday that Delly came to her crying the day before, saying that Thom had been ordered to return to District Two.  Just, out of the blue.  I thought that was rather odd, since there's no longer any fighting going on, and no good reason to require Thom being there.  So Beetee and I did some more digging.  What we found was, that as soon as Thom landed in Two, he was arrested by Peacekeepers and taken to the Capitol.”

 

“But why—?”

 

“Thom was the mastermind behind many of the pivotal battles in the war,” says Gale, practically spitting out the words.  “He came up with the idea to attack the dam in Five that allowed us to break into the Training Center.  And apparently, Coin’s decided to make him her first example.”

 

“They plan to televise the trials,” says Plutarch.  “They’ll start with Thom and a few others.  Vilify them, paint them as radicals hell-bent on only destroying things rather than freedom fighters fighting for a better world.  They’ll spin it in such a way that no one would dare come to the conclusion that they’re merely pawns being used in someone’s elaborate game.”

 

 _A piece in someone else’s game._  I remember Peeta saying that phrase many times when we were in the camp, when he was coming to grips with what had happened to him.  

 

“That’s a Training Center phrase.  The ‘piece in someone’s game’,” I say, glaring at Plutarch.  “From Ellipses.  Isn’t it.”

 

He has the decency to look ashamed.  “Yes, I’m afraid so. We were taught as Trainers to not see the actual person behind the soldier.  To see them as nothing more than tools or pawns, being used and maneuvered to attack our enemies.”  His jowls jiggle as he shakes his head.  “It wasn’t until I realized that Peeta was resisting the training, and how he was doing so, that my mind was changed.  He was clinging to something so precious and true, it allowed him to keep his mind, even as we tried to warp it.”

 

My lower lip starts to shake.  “It was me,” I choke out.  “He was clinging to me.  He loves me.”

 

“And such a love is something that no one in the Capitol could likely even fathom,” says Dad.  “There, they treat love and affection as throwaway items.  People change spouses as easily as they change their clothing.  There’s no deep attachments formed.  Not even between parents and their children.”

 

I inhale a shaky breath, swiping at my eyes.  “So, what’re we gonna do?”

 

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Beetee pulls out a small device, no larger than an arrowhead.  “Once President Coin started shutting us out, I started digging.  It took some time, but Finnick, Madge, and I managed to find this.  A list of every single person who's been labeled as a war criminal.”

 

“It includes almost everyone in this room,” says Finnick.  “Only Boggs and Jedrek are excluded.”

 

“And Peeta and Rye,” I say, looking up at my father.  “Why are they on there?”

 

“The official reason given for Peeta is because he killed a Peacekeeper,” says Beetee.  “And Rye, believe it or not, because he tortured Peeta.“

 

“Peeta was protecting me from that Peacekeeper!” I cry.  “Drake was trying to take me to Cray’s house!”

 

“And if I’d’ve been there, I would’ve killed him myself,” Dad says.  He shoots Gale an almost imperceptible look.  “But Coin’s counterpart in the Capitol is insistent that he be tried for it.”

 

“But, and here’s the kicker, President Coin doesn’t want Peeta put through a public trial because of the popularity of the Star-Crossed Lovers,” says Haymitch.  “It would damage the image she’s trying so hard to cultivate.  So her plan is to ensure that you, he, and Rye remain here, in Thirteen.”

 

“But we need to get Peeta to the Capitol!” I say.  “He’ll die otherwise!”

 

“Everyone here already knows that, Brainless,” pipes up Johanna, rolling her eyes.  “Give us a little more credit than that, for fuck’s sake!”

 

“Katniss is correct.  We do need to get Peeta into the Capitol for him to survive his illness,” says Beetee, shooting Johanna a dark look.  “All four of you.  There’s unfortunately no way around it.  And it needs to happen before the birth of your baby.”

 

My chest feels so heavy I can barely breathe.  I can't believe that after everything that Peeta’s been through, that we’ve been through, it's come down to this.  “Then, what—?”

 

“We’ll just have to take down Coin,” says Gale firmly.  “And whoever she’s working with.  Both here and in the Capitol.”

 

“That’s a lot easier said than done, Soldier Hawthorne,” says Boggs, glaring at his subordinate.  “President Coin has been the leader here for a long, long time. She has a lot of support, and I for one am not going to condone a mass arrest when the only crime is ignorance of ulterior motives.”

 

“I still have some contacts in the Capitol that should be trustworthy,” says Plutarch.  “I'll make some inquiries.”

 

“Right.  So finding out the identity of Coin’s counterpart should be a top priority,” says Dad.

 

“Since Antonius is dead,” I say.  “Gale told me he'd been found dead in his office.”

 

“Yes, that’s right,” says Dad.  “Apparently he had a stroke.  But the funny thing is, is that the forensics team who searched his living quarters after his death discovered that his medications had been switched out, presumably a couple of weeks prior.”

 

I suck in a sharp breath.  “Do you think Coin ordered the switch?”

 

“It’s a possibility, yes,” says Beetee.  “We’re still investigating.”

 

“We’ll know more once we find out who Coin is working with,” says Haymitch.  “Plutarch thinks it’s likely someone who was either close to the late President Snow, or someone that Antonius managed to piss off during his tenure.  Unfortunately, it’s a rather long list.  The man had no shortage of political enemies.”

 

Just then baby girl gives a hard kick, so strong that I have to lean against my father for support.  “Our baby is due in less than four weeks,” I say, rubbing the spot where she kicked.  “That’s not a lot of time!”

 

“I've already vetted most of the hospital personnel,” says Beetee.  “And the original plan called for you, Peeta, and Rye to have a guard during transport and while you’re there, just in case.  We can increase that to as many as it requires.”

 

I can barely give Beetee a nod before burying my face into my father's chest.  The thought of guards, even if they’re the people in this room, watching me while I give birth turns my stomach.  Birthing our daughter should be a special time for Peeta and me, with only my mother and Prim there to help.  Not half of the District 13 military.

 

“Why?” I ask, raising my head.  I look around the room, at all these people willing to risk their lives for me.  “Why me?  None of you owe me anything.”

 

“Because you’ve earned it,” says Boggs.  “All three of you.  None of us are going into this blindly, Katniss.  We all know what’s at stake here.”

 

“All right.  Tell me what you need me to do.”

 

“Nothing different for now,” says Haymitch.  “Coin’s not dumb enough to try and do anything right away.  She’s got other things to sort out first.”

 

“Yeah, and if she just waits long enough, the two Mellark boys are as good as dead anyway,” says Beetee.  “It’s unlikely we could keep them alive indefinitely.  The risk of infection increases the longer they remain on isolation.”

 

Baby girl kicks again and I jump, turning back into my father's embrace.  “Stop it!  Please, don’t talk like that!”

 

“I think she’s heard enough,” Dad says.  He wraps his hands around my arms, kissing the top of my head.  “Here’s what’s gonna happen.  Peeta and Rye are never to be left alone.  Dr. Mullins knows what’s at stake here, so only nurses that have been thoroughly vetted will be allowed shifts in Rye and Peeta's rooms from now on.  Dr. Mullins, Primrose, and Lily will be solely responsible for any medications or therapies the boys require.”  He tilts my head up to look at him.  “And you, Katniss, are never to go anywhere alone.  Is that understood?  You are to have an escort at all times.”

 

“Okay,” I say, sniffing.  “But we have to tell Peeta what’s going on.  He has a right to know.”

 

“Yes, he does,” Dad agrees.  “But the trick is going to be finding a good time to tell him.  We don’t want anyone to overhear anything that they shouldn’t.  Even if the nurses are cleared, they still could pass along information to someone inadvertently.”

 

Glancing at the old clock on the wall, I shift my feet impatiently.  “I should go now.  Peeta will be waking up soon, and he gets anxious if I’m not there.”

 

“All right.  I'll take you back to the hospital,” says Dad.  “Gale, Jed, and Boggs need to get back down to the training area.”

 

Dad and I are quiet the whole way to the hospital, with my mind racing with all this new information.  None of it makes any sense.  I’m just a girl from District 12.  A girl who happened to fall in love with a boy, and then somehow became the catalyst for a revolution that might now be all for naught.

 

I’m relieved to find Peeta still asleep when we arrive, giving me time to wash my face and try and school my features a bit.  Peeta can read my emotions in my face so well, and I don’t want him seeing me upset when there's nothing he can do about it.

 

But as I settle down on my cot, watching him sleep with my arms wrapped around my belly, protectiveness rises up in me so fierce it makes me shiver.  Coin thinks I’m only a simple girl from the Seam.   She thinks I’m someone she can use for her own purposes, and then just cast aside when I’m no longer useful.

 

She doesn't know that I really am the Girl on Fire.  Which means, if anyone tries to get too close to me, or to anyone that I love, they’re going to get burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always eager to hear what you think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here we go! This is the chapter you've been waiting for, all 12k words of it! There's quite a lot going on here, and several POVs. :)
> 
> A huge thank-you to stjohn27 for prereading for me, and for coming up with the toastbaby name! I hope you all love it as much as I do!

 

“Oh, look!” Peeta exclaims as Prim runs the ultrasound wand across my rounded belly.  His face is pressed right up against the window, his eyes wide with excitement.  “She’s waving!  She’s saying hello!”

 

“She knows that her daddy’s watching,” Prim says, smiling as she taps the keyboard, taking her measurements.  “She’s getting excited to meet you.”

 

“How much longer, do you think?” I ask Prim, trying to keep my voice even.  While Dad was able to tell Mom and Prim about the discussion we had last week, we still haven't been able to tell Peeta about it yet.  So far I’ve been able to pass my unease off as nervousness about the impending birth, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep it from him.  He knows me too well.

 

“I’d estimate she’s between five and six pounds now,” says Prim, replacing the wand back on the machine.  She wipes the cold gel from my stomach and helps me sit up.  “You’ll be 37 weeks tomorrow, so hopefully she’ll put on another pound or so before you’re 38 weeks.  Are you still having the practice contractions?”

 

“She says they’re coming more and more often lately,” Peeta says, sounding concerned.  “And sometimes they hurt.”

 

“That’s perfectly normal,” Prim replies.  “It’s Katniss’s body’s way of preparing for the birth.”

 

“And everything’s set for that?” I ask, giving my sister what I hope is a knowing look.

 

“As much as it can be,” she says warily.  “But it’s not gonna do you any good to worry about it.”  She prints off a photograph and brings it over to the window for Peeta to see.  “I think she looks like a Mellark, don’t you think?”

 

Peeta smiles widely, his eyes crinkling in the corners the way that I love.  “She’s gonna be gorgeous with Katniss as her mommy.  I can’t wait to meet her.”

 

“Not too much longer now,” I say as I slide back onto my cot, pressing my palm against the glass.  “I just want to make sure that everything’s in place first.”

 

“Everyone’s working as hard as they can to make sure of that,” Prim says firmly.  “You just concentrate on your part.”

 

I’m saved from replying by the appearance of my father.  “Ah, just the people I needed to see.”  Walking over to the window, he taps on the glass to get the nurse’s attention.  “Ready for a break?  I’m sure Peeta will be fine for a few minutes with Primrose here.”

 

“Yeah, sure, might as well,” replies the nurse.  She pulls herself up off her chair in the corner and exits the room in a rush of pressurized air, peeling off her mask and cap as soon as the door seals shut behind her.  “No offense, but I’m gonna be glad when you guys head to the Capitol.  The antibacterial stuff we have to wash with is absolutely wrecking my skin!”

 

Dad gives her a tight smile as she heads for the door.  “Enjoy your break!”

 

“What’s going on, Mr. Everdeen?” Peeta asks.  “The nurses don’t usually get a break for another couple of hours during the day.”

 

“Call me Dad, son,” he replies, winking at his son-in-law.  “No one in my family calls me Mr. Everdeen.”

 

Peeta’s cheeks flush pink, and he looks down as he smiles.  “Okay… Dad.”

 

Huffing out a sharp breath, Dad sits down next to me on the cot, eyeing Peeta intently.  “We need to tell you something, son.  About your upcoming trip to the Capitol.”

 

“Okay,” Peeta replies, his face falling as his eyes flit between my father, Prim, and me.  “What’s wrong?  Prim said the baby looked fine just now!”

 

My lower lip starts to shake as I shake my head.  “There’s nothing wrong with our baby, Peeta,” I say in a quavering voice.  “But—”

 

“The baby is absolutely fine,” Dad says, holding up his hand to silence me.  “It’s the rest of you we have to be concerned about.”

 

I watch as a flurry of emotions crosses Peeta’s face, a combination of horror, fear, and determination.  “Okay,” he says, swallowing hard.  “I’m listening.”

 

Pressed for time, Dad gives Peeta the condensed version of what we discussed a week ago, with the addition of a few details that he and the others have discovered in the meantime.  Peeta listens without interrupting for the entirety of Dad’s speech, his jaw twitching in that way it always does when he's trying to contain his temper.

 

“So,” he says quietly, once Dad has finished.  “What you’re telling me, is that as soon as we cross over into the Capitol, we’ll be under threat of arrest?  Katniss, Rye, and myself?”

 

“That’s the general gist of it,” Dad says.  He lets out a heavy sigh, looking older than I've ever seen him.  “Right now, travel in and out of the Capitol is restricted to essential personnel only.  Coin has assured me that it won’t be a problem getting the three of you in once the time comes, but—“

 

“We can’t trust her,” Peeta says.

 

“Not at all,” says Dad, shaking his head.  “I just can’t believe it.  After all this time, after all that I put into this rebellion, all the sacrifices that I made, that we’ve all made… that it’s come down to this.”  His arm wraps around my shoulders.  “I wonder if any of it was worth it.”

 

“That doesn't matter now,” I say.  “What matters is stopping Coin.”

 

“No, what matters is getting you into the Capitol,” says Dad.  “We’ll let the trained military worry about stopping Coin.”

 

“I’m assuming you have a plan?” asks Peeta.

 

“It’s a tentative one, but yes,” answers Dad.  “It’s better if you don't know all the details though.  For your own protection.”

 

Peeta gives him a hard look.  “Fine.  But you need to promise me one thing.”

 

“What’s that?” asks Dad.

 

“If something goes wrong, if we somehow can't get into the Capitol, or if things go south once we get there, I want you to get Katniss and the baby and take them somewhere far away.”

 

“Peeta—!” I protest, but he holds his hand up to silence me.

 

“You know how to survive out there, out in the open,” he continues, his blue eyes fixed on my father.  “Please.  If it comes to that, I need you to take them someplace where they can be safe.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere without you!” I say, punctuating my sentence with a slap on the glass.  “Peeta, I won't leave you!”

 

Peeta purses his lips, leveling me with an intense look.  “Katniss, you know I wouldn’t do this if I had any other choice.  But you’re not going to risk your life for me, I’m not gonna let you.  I need you to do as I say.  Your safety, and our daughter’s safety, are the most important things to me, and I’ll guard them with my life if need be.”  He shakes his head, his blue eyes shiny with tears.  “Please, love.  Don’t argue with me about this.  You won’t win.”

 

“But I promised to protect you,” I say, biting my bottom lip.  “I can't break my promise!”

 

“And I promised to protect you,” he says.  “It goes both ways, Katniss.  You and the baby are more important to me than my own life.”

 

“But—!”

 

“I'll do it,” says Dad as he covers my hand with his own.  “Son, you have my word.”

 

Peeta’s eyes flutter closed as he nods in relief.  “Thank you.”

 

I press my palms against my belly as one of the practice contractions hits, trying to remember to take deep breaths through the increasingly painful tightening.  “Let’s assume it won't come to that.  Okay?”

 

“Are you all right, love?” Peeta asks.  “Another contraction?”

 

“Yeah,” I breathe out as my abdomen loosens again.  “Don’t worry, I’m fine now.”

 

“That looked like more than just a practice contraction,” Peeta says, looking concerned.  “You looked like you were in a lot of pain just now.”

 

“They are getting stronger.  But like Prim said, it’s normal for this stage in pregnancy.”

 

Peeta furrows his brow, unconvinced.  “Hmm.  If you say so.”

 

“I’m fine, Peeta,” I say firmly.  “I can handle it.”

 

“I know you can,” he says.  “Just remember you don’t have to do it alone.”

 

 _No, because I’ll have who knows how many people watching me,_ I think bitterly.  “I know.”

 

“I’ll keep you both informed of any changes to the plan,” Dad says, just as Peeta’s nurse walks into the room.  Standing to his feet, he pats me on the shoulder and nods in Peeta's direction.  “You’re looking stronger by the day, son.  Keep up the good work.”

 

“I will,” Peeta says softly as Dad exits the room.  His blue eyes meet mine, and our hands unconsciously meet each other’s against the cold glass of the window.  “Katniss.  It’s gonna be okay.”

 

I nod as my belly tightens yet again, not quite as strongly this time.  “I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

_“So, you don’t anticipate any problems?” Carter asks, studying Alma Coin’s face for the slightest hint of weakness.  It’s their first time meeting face-to-face, with Coin flying in with a fanfare fit for a king earlier that afternoon.  Carter wasn’t surprised in the least when her first action as the new Prime Minister of Panem was to order a complete overhaul of the late President Snow’s personal chambers._

 

_“No,” she answers, her grey eyes narrowing as she looks around the spacious conference room, with its rich tapestries and polished mahogany furniture.  Her gaze finally lands on the huge picture window overlooking the City Circle.  “The people of Thirteen will follow me without question, and the rest—“_

 

_“Will fall into line, as you said,” Carter interrupts, leaning back in his chair.  “You’re certain of this?”_

 

_“Absolutely,” replies Coin, crossing her arms.  “Now then, we must discuss our plans for reconstruction.  It would be advisable to begin with Districts Four, Eleven, and Twelve.  They are three of the most devastated districts, and also districts that supply the necessary materials of food and fuel.”_

 

_“Agreed,” Carter says as he rummages through his pile of papers.  Pulling out the correct sheet, he smooths the paper out on the table, tapping it with his pen.  “I've already taken the liberty of sending a team of architects and builders out to the ruins of District Twelve.  They are to report back to me when they’ve come up with a plan.”_

 

_Coin purses her lips as she looks over the paper, filled with details on new housing and how to safely reopen the destroyed coal mines.  “Very well.  But in the future, Mr. Carter, I would advise you to not deploy anyone without first gaining my permission.  There must be no question in the mind of the people as to which of us is the true leader.  Is that understood?”_

 

_The firm tone of her voice sends a shiver down Carter’s spine, and he bites the side of his cheek to keep from retorting.  “Understood, Madam Prime Minister.  Please forgive my impudence.”_

 

_“It is forgiven,” Coin replies.  “This time.”  She pushes her chair back from the table, walking over to the large window, observing the cleanup crews sweeping up the brightly colored glass from the streets._

 

_“There is still the question of the Mockingjay,” Carter says after a pregnant pause.  “Have you as yet made a decision on what to do about her?”_

 

_Carter watches as Coin’s face blanches slightly before she recovers, a thin smile stretching her nearly colorless lips.  “The Mockingjay will not be of any concern for too much longer.  They currently believe that all is set for their arrival here once it is time for her to deliver, but I have left orders with my Head of Security to prevent the deployment of any hovercraft while I’m away from Thirteen.  If she and the two soldiers are not able to leave the district prior to her infant’s birth, then there will be no need to put them on trial, because they will be dead shortly thereafter.  I have been told that their risk of infection for the Mellarks is quite high, and it would only require a single slip-up in the decom process prior to entering their rooms to take care of them.”_

 

_His lower lip twitches in annoyance, but he says nothing, knowing it would likely be futile.  It was his hope to broadcast the trials of the Mockingjay and her accomplices all across Panem, as examples.  But Coin decided it would be too much of a risk to their approval rating, since the Star-Crossed Lovers propo series was so popular in the Capitol.  He supposes she is correct, especially since their ultimate plan requires luring the district citizens into a false sense of security.  It still rankles him, however.  The fact that a woman—no, only a mere girl—caused so much trouble not only for him but the entire Ellipses program is immensely maddening._

 

_“That takes care of the two Ellipses soldiers,” Carter presses.  “But it still doesn't address the Mockingjay specifically.”_

 

_Coin turns from the window, her lips pressed tightly together, her tone as cold as steel.  “I said it will be handled, Mr. Carter.  My word should be all that you require on the matter.”_

 

_Gulping, Carter nods.  “Yes, Madam Prime Minister.”_

 

* * *

 

“You’re sure you’re feeling all right?” Peeta asks me for the third time in as many minutes as I breathe through yet another contraction.  They always seem to get stronger right at bedtime, like some sick cosmic joke.  “Those contractions seem to be a lot more painful today.”

 

“I said I’m fine!” I snap, squeezing my eyes closed at the painful tightening.  “Please, don’t ask me again!”

 

Peeta slams his palm against the window.  “I’m gonna ask, Katniss,” he says firmly.  “I can’t do anything else for you, damn it, so I’m gonna keeping asking you how you’re feeling!”

 

The contraction wanes, and I breathe out a sharp breath as I open my eyes.  Peeta’s frowning against the glass, his jaw tight and his blue eyes clouded with worry.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just—”

 

“It’s okay, love,” he says.  “I just wish I could be more help.”

 

The baby seems to stretch out in my womb, as if in protest if the frequent contractions, my belly pitching and rolling with her strong movements.  “Me too,” I say, pressing my palm over what I think is a foot.  “I wish you could too. I’m feeling better now, though.  Try not to worry.”

 

“Very little chance of that,” he mutters, but tries to smile anyway.  “Try and sleep now, love.  You need as much rest as you can get.”

 

“You too,” I say as I lie down on the cot, facing the glass.  Peeta does the same, his hand pressed up against the window.  Neither of us close our eyes, though.  I doubt we’ve been able to sleep more than a few hours since the conversation with my father two days ago.  He assured us both this morning that everything was in place, but I can tell he’s worried too.  There’s just so much at stake, and not only for our family.  For the future of the entire country.

 

“Sing for me, Katniss,” Peeta whispers a few minutes later.  “I want to hear you.  I want to remember your beautiful voice, singing me to sleep.”

 

“No!” I say fiercely, pushing myself up on my elbow.  It’s all too similar to what he said on our last morning together in the cave, right before he was captured.  “Don’t you talk like that, like you're gonna need to remember it.  You’re not gonna have to remember it, because you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life.  Boggs told me I’ve earned myself a long life, so I’ll be singing you to sleep every single night for the next seventy years.  Do you understand me?”

 

He runs a shaky hand through his hair.  “Katniss—“

 

“No!  I know I’m right!”  I push myself back up onto my knees, my forehead resting against the glass.  “We’re gonna get through this.  I don't know how, but I know we will.  We have to.  I refuse to accept any alternative.”

 

Peeta gives me a somber look, then shakes his head slightly.  “Please, love,” he says.  “Please, sing for me.  I want to fall asleep to the sound of your voice.”

 

“That’s better,” I grumble as I lie back down.  I close my eyes, imagining that we’re sitting in the Meadow on a spring day, his head lying in my lap and my fingers trailing through his downy soft hair.

 

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow_  
_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_  
_Lay down your head, and close your eyes  
And when they open, the sun will rise_

 

 _Here it’s safe, here it’s warm_  
_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_  
_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place, where I love you._

 

He doesn’t fall asleep, though.  He lies there, a soft smile on his face, with his hand up against the window as he whispers to me, “I was a goner the first time I heard you sing.”

 

“You’ve told me that before,” I murmur.  “A few times.”

 

“I don't want you to forget it.”

 

“Peeta!  Don’t—!”

 

“It’s okay, Katniss.  Try and rest now, you need it.”

 

I huff in frustration as I squirm on the cot, trying to get comfortable.  One pillow under my head, one behind my back, another between my knees; there’s barely enough room for me anymore.

 

“Peeta,” I whisper a few minutes later.  The clock up on the wall reads 0050, way past our usual bedtime.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I want a chocolate cake for my next birthday.  With vanilla frosting and flowers.  Rue flowers.”

 

“And dandelions,” he whispers.  “I’ll draw some dandelions on it too.”

 

“That sounds perfect,” I say dreamily, licking my lips.  “I can nearly taste it now.”

 

“Go to sleep, Katniss.  Dream about cakes and dandelions.”

 

 _And your arms around me, and your lips pressed to my neck._  “Okay.  You too.”

 

The contractions continue intermittently into the night.  I manage to doze off for an hour or so a couple of times, but it’s difficult to stay comfortable when my belly feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise.  After I spend another ten minutes or so trying to roll over without losing any of my pillows, I give up, pushing myself up into a seated position with my legs crossed in front of me and a pillow under my belly.  My mother said this was a good way to let my stomach relax, and it helps relieve some of the pressure on my lower back.

 

Peeta seems to be sleeping as peacefully as he can.  That tiny frown line is still there, between his eyebrows, but his jaw is relaxed and his breathing even.  Maybe tonight will be nightmare-free for him.  His hair is mussed, covering his forehead, much longer that he was ever allowed to wear it before he was taken.  I used to hate when his mom would cut his hair, always too short for my liking.  Since he’s been here my mom’s been cutting it for him, but Peeta asked her to leave it longer, knowing I preferred it that way.

 

Baby girl suddenly kicks me hard, directly onto my bladder it seems, and I wince in pain as I shift, dangling my legs over the side of the cot.  May as well use the bathroom again if she’s going to insist on kicking me there.

 

“You all right, miss?” Peeta’s nurse asks me from her chair inside his room, opening one sleepy eye.

 

“I’m fine,” I reply through gritted teeth as I hoist myself up to my feet.  “Just need to use the bathroom.”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” she replies.

 

I’ve barely taken two steps when there’s an almost audible _‘pop’_ in my lower belly, and immediately a rush of fluid soaks my underwear.  “Oh my God,” I whisper, grabbing onto the counter next to the bathroom door as my vision goes hazy for a few seconds.  It takes me a couple of breaths to realize what’s happened.  “Oh no, no, no!  It’s not time yet.  It’s too early!”

 

“Katniss?” Peeta says from his bed.  He must have awoken when I stumbled into the counter.  “Are you all right?  What’s going on?”

 

“I think—” I gasp out as a contraction hits, much stronger than any I’ve had before, causing me to double over.  “Peeta, I think my water’s broken!”

 

“Oh my God!” Peeta exclaims as he bolts upright, raking his hands through his hair.  “Did you call your mother?”

 

“I've already called her,” the nurse says, getting to her feet.  She moves over to Peeta and starts disconnecting monitors. “Dr. Mullins ordered antibiotics for during the transport, Mr. Mellark.  I’ll need to start an IV now.”

 

“Okay,” he says, not taking his eyes off of me even as he holds out his arm.  I’m still clutching the edge of the counter, trying to take deep breaths.  “Katniss, please sit back down!”

 

“I’ll just get the bed wet,” I mutter as another contraction hits.  I drop to the ground, curling into a ball as the pain ramps up in intensity.  “Ow, this hurts!”

 

“What’s going on, Katniss,” my father says as he rushes into the room, with Mom directly behind him, still tying back her blonde hair.  Dad picks me up off the floor as easily as he would a rag doll, cradling me against his chest.

 

“She says her water’s broken,” Peeta says, wincing as the nurse sticks him with the IV needle.  “And the contractions seem to be stronger than they’ve ever been.”

 

Dad sets me down on the cot so Mom can examine me, his jaw tight as he nods at Peeta’s nurse.  “All right.  Primrose is already down with Rye, getting him prepped.  Boggs is down in the hangar filing the false flight plans, so we have to hustle.”

 

“Daddy!” I cry as my belly tightens again.  “I’m not ready!  I still have three weeks to go, it’s too early!”

 

“I think the baby’s the judge of that, Katniss,” Mom says, peeling off my soaked underwear.  She dons a pair of gloves and does a quick internal exam.  “Your water’s definitely broken, and you’re already dilated to six.  We need to get in the air STAT if we’re gonna make it in time.”

 

I turn towards the window, watching as Peeta’s nurse helps him into a heavy black vest before draping some sort of rigid, clear plastic sheeting around him.  After zipping it closed, she inserts a small hose attached to a portable air purifier, designed to maintain the proper positive pressure for his isolation.  Once she starts up the machine, she helps him into a waiting wheelchair and wheels him out of the room he’s lived in for the last five months.  

 

“Mr. Mellark is ready.”

 

Mom drapes a blanket over my shoulders as a knock sounds at the door.  Dad opens it to find Haymitch and Finnick dressed in rebel military uniforms, rifles and trident in hand.

 

“Rye is prepped and on the way with Thresh, Johanna, and Prim,” Haymitch says in a grim voice.  “Boggs, Beetee, and the rest are waiting down by the hovercrafts.”

 

“All right,” Dad says.  He gathers me into his arms, with Mom taking her place behind Peeta’s wheelchair.  “Let’s go.”

 

Haymitch leads the way through the darkened hallways of the hospital and into the rest of the district, doubling back twice on our way down to the hangar to ensure that our large entourage isn’t being followed.  The ramps to the two hovercrafts are already open when we arrive, with Gale waiting for us along with Boggs and Beetee.

 

“I’m flying with Katniss!” Peeta says firmly, gripping the handles of his wheelchair.  

 

“We’re all flying together,” Boggs says as he ushers us up the ramp.  I see several members of the rescue crew from the Capitol entering the second hovercraft.  “The other hovercraft is flying into District Two for support.”

 

Haymitch hangs two blankets from the struts in the roof towards the back, cordoning off a small section as Mom instructs Dad to lie me down on a set of padded seats against the side.  As Peeta and Rye are wheeled inside, the two boys lock eyes for a brief moment.  Rye audibly gulps, his face draining of what little color it has as Peeta gives him a brief nod.  It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since they were in the Capitol.

 

“We’re all ready,” Haymitch says to Boggs.  Boggs nods in reply, moving towards the cockpit as the ramp closes and the engines fire.  Everyone else takes seats further up near the cockpit, giving us at least some semblance of privacy.  Dad sits down next to my feet and places them in his lap, pressing firmly into my soles with his thumbs as Peeta watches from next to me, shielded by his thick layer of plastic.

 

“How are you doing, love?” he asks, his casual tone belying the fear clouding his blue eyes.  “Are you in a lot of pain?”

 

“It hurts,” I moan as a contraction hits, starting at the top of my belly and radiating downward.  I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths as Dad’s fingers probe even harder into the soles of my feet.  

 

“You’re doing just fine, Katniss,” Mom says, brushing the hair out of my eyes.  “I just wish you would’ve said something yesterday, once the contractions started getting more painful.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve never done this before,” I choke out as the pain starts to wane.  “I thought they were still just the practice ones.”

 

“When you can’t talk through them anymore, they’re the real thing,” Mom says as she blots my sweaty forehead with a cloth.  “I’m just grateful your water broke when it did.  Sometimes it doesn’t break until it's time to start pushing, and that really would’ve been too late.”

 

“We’re gonna make it though,” Peeta says.  “Right?”

 

“First babies often take the longest,” Mom says, smiling kindly.  “We should be fine.”

 

* * *

 

_The very loud and very shrill ring of his telephone rouses Carter from sleep.  Rolling over, he glances at the clock on the bedside table, cursing when he sees that it’s only 3am.  What in the hell could be so urgent?_

 

_“Yes?” he barks into the receiver, scrubbing at his eyes.  “What the hell is it?”_

 

_“Please excuse the interruption, sir,” the timid female voice says from the other end of the line.  “But we’ve just received word of a skirmish that’s developed in District Two, and we thought you ought to know.”_

 

_Skirmish?  Who in the hell would be skirmishing at this hour?  “Who is this?” Carter demands._

 

_“This is Peacekeeper Station Six, sir,” the woman replies.  “We’re the station closest to the border to District Two.  Reports are coming in regarding new fighting between Peacekeepers and rebel troops.”_

 

_Carter flops backwards onto his bed, the heel of his hand digging into his forehead.  When will these damn rebels learn that the war is over?_

 

_“Has it been brought to the Prime Minister’s attention?”_

 

_“No, sir,” replies the woman.  “Our orders were to bring matters such as this to your attention, sir.  They are directly from the Prime Minister herself.”_

 

_“Oh they are, are they?” Carter says, his upper lip curling into a sneer.  Damn that woman!  It’s bad enough that he doesn't even get his own house, even if the former President Snow’s home is more than large enough for them both.  But it's only been a couple of days since they’ve settled in on opposite ends of the twenty thousand square foot mansion, and he’s already had just about enough of the new Prime Minister’s delegating._

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

_“Well, then, why don’t you—“_

 

_“Pardon me, sir,” interrupts the woman.  “We’ve just received word that District Thirteen has dispatched two hovercraft to deal with the situation.”_

 

_“They have?  Then they should be able to take care of things, shouldn’t they?” Carter asks, huffing out a sigh of relief._

 

_“I would think so, sir.”_

 

_“Very well.  Keep me informed of any further problems, but only if absolutely necessary.  Is that clear?”_

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

_“Mmm,” Carter grumbles as he slams down the phone.  Typical rebels, causing trouble even after the official end of the war, like the bullies they are.  And typical Coin, leaving him to deal with such nonsense while she sleeps in perfect peace and quiet over there on her side of the house._

 

_He’s starting to regret this arrangement more and more.  Weeks have passed since the surrender announcement, and yet the little progress that he and Coin have made in formulating the new government is being constantly overshadowed by the fact he still finds it almost repulsive to take orders from a woman.  Especially a woman who so obviously views him as her subordinate._

 

_“Hmm,” he mumbles to himself, thinking.  Maybe this skirmish in District 2 isn’t such a bad thing after all.  Pushing himself back up, he turns on the soft light next to the phone, digging around in his drawer for the list of Peacekeeper station phone numbers._

 

_“Station Six,” a woman answers, the same woman with whom he just spoke._

 

_“This is Deputy Prime Minister Carter,” he says into the receiver.  “This skirmish you spoke of in District Two.  How large is it?”_

 

_“I cannot personally see the fighting, sir,” she answers.  “But from the sounds of it, it’s quite large.  The largest since the end of the war.”_

 

_“I see,” Carter says, tapping his chin as he thinks.  “Then I am personally authorizing you to commandeer as many Peacekeepers from the other Capitol stations as is required to put an immediate stop to the fighting.”_

 

_“Understood, sir,” the woman replies.  “Thank you, sir.”_

 

_“Yes, yes,” Carter says impatiently.  “Keep me informed.”_

 

_“I will, sir.”_

 

_Replacing the phone, Carter lays back against his luxuriously soft pillows, an evil smile stretching over his face.  Putting an immediate stop to this ridiculous rebel uprising can only tip the odds in his favor in the court of public opinion.  If he’s able to demonstrate to the Capitol citizens that he can protect them better than Alma Coin, then surely they won’t pay it too much mind once he’s ready to be rid of her._

 

* * *

 

_Commander Paylor shields her eyes with her hand against the rising sun as she looks down from her lower mountain station over the smooth Capitol Streets.  Her troops, battle-worn but slightly rejuvenated since the cessation of active fighting a few weeks ago, are ready, awaiting her command to enter the Capitol and take up sentry around the hospital.  Commander Lyme, waiting with her troops on another small peak three miles away, will remain in command here, charged with keeping the Peacekeeper reinforcements from returning to the Capitol once they realize they’ve been duped._

 

_The plan is a simple one, concocted by Boggs.  The Rebel garrison stationed in District 2 for peacekeeping purposes was to create a diversion on Boggs’ order, drawing Peacekeepers away from their Capitol stations and into the district.  This would hopefully allow the Mockingjay’s hovercraft easier entry into Capitol airspace._

 

_“Commander Boggs just radioed, ma’am,” says the voice of one of Paylor’s most trusted lieutenants, Lieutenant Williams, a man from District 8 whom she’s known nearly all her life.  “He says the hovercrafts are thirty minutes out.”_

 

_“Copy that,” Paylor murmurs, still scanning the streets for signs of… anything.  “Make sure Commander Lyme is aware.”_

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” Williams replies, snapping his heels before turning to head back to the command tent._

 

_“Wait!” Paylor says, holding up her hand to halt the lieutenant as her eyes pick up movement on the Capitol streets.  Behind her, Paylor can hear the fracas growing louder, the sounds of explosions of harmless flares mixing in with the whooping and yelling of the Rebel forces.  She squints as the harsh light from the sun starts to glint off the surface of several transport vehicles, all heading in her direction._

 

_The diversion appears to have succeeded, at least initially._

 

_“Yes, ma’am?” Williams says._

 

_“Inform Commander Boggs that the Capitol forces have taken the bait,” she commands.  “Ready the troops for Capitol incursion.  And tell Commander Lyme to expect company within the next few minutes.”_

 

_When he doesn't immediately reply, Paylor looks over at him.  “Something on your mind, Lieutenant?”_

 

_Williams purses his lips, knowing he should ask permission to speak freely, but also knowing he doesn't really have to, since it’s Paylor.  “Is it worth it, ma’am?  I mean, here we are, prepping for another battle in a war we’ve technically already won.  Is it all really worth it, just for one girl?”_

 

_Paylor turns on him, her eyes stern.  She understands where he's coming from; she’s tired of war too.  She’d love to be able to return home, to start rebuilding.  But the battle they’re facing today isn’t only for the life of one teenage girl and her baby.  It’s for every single district citizen in Panem.  For as much as Thirteen likes to paint itself as just another district, it is most certainly not the same.  After all, it was Thirteen that started the rebellion that led to the Dark Days, and then abandoned the rest of the districts when the tide turned against it.  And she’ll be damned if she’ll allow the same thing to happen again._

 

_“Yes, Lieutenant,” she says firmly.  “It is worth it.  Today we are all Mockingjays.  Every single one of us.  Now, carry out my orders.”_

 

_Williams cocks his head, then nods, squaring his shoulders proudly.  “Yes, ma’am.”_

 

* * *

 

“You’re doing great, Katniss,” Mom says, brushing my sweaty hair out of my eyes as my father holds me in a semi-standing position through my latest contraction.  “Keep breathing and try and relax, this one’s almost over.”

 

The contraction finally wanes and I collapse against my father, my head dropping against his chest as I gulp air into my lungs.  “You’re so brave, songbird,” he says, patting my back.  “It’ll all be over soon.”

 

Raising my head, I lock eyes with Peeta, who’s leaning so far forward in his wheelchair that I’m surprised he hasn’t fallen out.  I wish so badly it could be his arms wrapped around me, his body holding me up when the painful contractions hit, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.  But the protective cage around him is such that I can't even grasp his hand, and I can tell by his tortured expression that it’s nearly killing him to see me in so much pain and be unable to help me.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs.  “I love you so much.  You're so strong, Katniss.”

 

“I don’t feel very strong,” I whisper.  “I feel like I’m being split in two.”

 

“They're three minutes apart now,” Mom says, concern flashing across her eyes as she glances at my father.  “How close are we?”

 

“We’ve been in the air for at least three hours,” Dad replies, his shoulders tensing as I dig my fingernails into his arms, bracing myself as another contraction begins.  “We have to be getting close.”

 

“Owwww,” I moan through the increasing pain, squeezing my father’s arms so hard I’m probably leaving bruises.  “It hurts, Momma.  It hurts so bad!  I don’t think I can do this!”

 

“Yes, you can,” Mom says firmly.  “I've seen far weaker women than you give birth before.  You’re stronger than the pain, Katniss.  I know you don’t think so, but you are.”  She gestures around to Peeta and Dad.  “We all know it.”

 

“Your mom is right, love,” Peeta says.  “You’re the strongest person I know.”

 

Tears of exhaustion and pain stream down my face as I look into his bright blue eyes, trying so hard to be brave for me.  “I don’t—, I don’t know, Peeta.  I—“

 

“But I do,” he says firmly.  “And I know that I’m right.”

 

“Let’s try a different position now,” Mom says.  Taking my hands off Dad's arms, she maneuvers me onto my hands and knees over a pile of blankets, pressing the pads of her fingers deep into my lower back as another contraction starts to ramp up.  “Breathe, Katniss.  Try and keep your legs relaxed, it hurts more if you’re tense.”

 

I can only nod as I drop my chin against my chest, my eyes squeezing closed against the pain, trying to remember to keep breathing as Peeta chants encouragement through his plastic shell.  “I love you so much, Katniss.  You can do this.  Remember, you're stronger than the pain.”

 

_It hurts, oh God it hurts!  How in the world do women have more than one child if it hurts this much!_

 

As the contraction peaks and I can’t help but cry out, Peeta’s voice breaks for just a moment.  “I wish I could take all your pain away, love!  I wish I could!”

 

I shake my head as the tightening decreases, panting as I look up into the bright blue eyes of my husband.  “I know you would.  But I wouldn’t let you.  I've seen you in enough pain to last a hundred lifetimes, and I couldn’t handle seeing you bear any more.”

 

“James?” calls Boggs’ deep voice from behind the curtain of blankets.  

 

“Go ahead, Commander,” Dad replies.

 

“We’re about twenty minutes out from the hospital,” Boggs says.  “Commander Lyme reports that Peacekeepers are currently deploying to District Two in response to the tactical diversion.  We’re hoping that the resistance around the hospital itself will be minimal.”

 

“Got it.  Thank you, Boggs,” Dad replies.  He turns to me, his grey eyes determined as he leans down to kiss my forehead.  “We’re almost there, Katniss.  We’re almost there.”

 

* * *

 

_“What is it now?” Carter snarls into the telephone, making no attempt to hide his annoyance with yet another interruption of his fitful slumber._

 

_“I’m extremely sorry to bother you again, sir,” says the frightened voice of the Station Six staffer.  “But we’ve just received a report that one of the District Thirteen hovercraft has broken off course.”_

 

_Rolling his eyes, Carter slowly gets to his feet, giving up on the thought of getting any more sleep.  “Yes?” he snaps. “Is that it?  Perhaps the pilot simply needed to adjust his course.  Did you people ever think of that?”_

 

_“Yes, sir, we did consider that possibility.  However, the new projected course has the hovercraft aiming for the center of the Capitol.”_

 

_“What?  That doesn't make any sense at all,” Carter retorts.  “Why in the hell would a District Thirteen hovercraft risk landing in the—“.  His voice drops off as his hand goes slack, nearly dropping the receiver onto the floor._

 

_“Sir?” says the staffer on the other end.  “Sir, are you there?”_

 

_Groping frantically for his glasses, Carter nearly pokes himself in the eye as he attempts to slam them onto his face.  “Call them back!  Call all of them back immediately!”_

 

_“Call who back, sir?” asks the woman._

 

_“Call all of the Peacekeepers back!” yells Carter as he tries to shrug out of his pajama shirt with one hand still clutching the phone.  “Recall every single deployed Peacekeeper and have them take up sentry positions around the City Circle Hospital!”_

 

_“Around the hospital, sir?”_

 

_“Do I have to draw you a picture?” says Carter, now shoving his legs into a pair of uniform pants.  “Carry out my orders immediately!”_

 

_“Yes, sir!”_

 

_Slamming the phone down, Carter races from his bedroom—still buttoning his uniform coat, and without any footwear—and exits his quarters, jogging through the plushly carpeted hallways to the Prime Minister’s residential wing._

 

_“I need to speak with the Prime Minister,” Carter pants as he encounters two of Coin’s personal security guards, stationed in the hallway leading to her personal quarters.  “It is extremely urgent.”_

 

_“The Prime Minister left strict instructions not to be disturbed,” one of the guards replies, a tall, dark-haired man with the widest shoulders Carter’s ever seen.  “I would be happy to pass along a message—“_

 

_“You will wake her immediately!” Carter yells.  “It is an emergency!”_

 

_To Carter’s shock, the man shakes his head.  “No, sir, I will not.  If you would like me to pass along a message, I will be happy to do so while the Prime Minister is breakfasting after she wakes.”_

 

_For a brief moment Carter considers punching the man, and even raises his clenched right fist in anticipation.  Then he remembers what happened the last time he tried to punch someone, and the pain in his knuckles that recurs every time it rains, and his hand flops back against his side.  Inhaling a deep breath, he tries to school his features into as formal a look as he can muster._

 

_“Very well, you fool,” he says, breathing heavily.  “Here is my message.  The Mockingjay is invading the Capitol.”_

 

* * *

 

“Aahh!” I cry, no longer able to stay quiet as the strongest contraction yet starts to hit, ramping up in intensity much faster than any I’ve had before.  I squeeze fistfuls of the blankets into my hands, trying desperately to hang on as the waves of pain climb higher and higher.  They finally peak and start to wane, and then just as I let out my breath they start to ramp up again.  “Momma, it's not stopping!  They just keep coming!”

 

“She’s in transition!” Mom says, mopping my forehead with a cloth.  I see her glance at my father with worried eyes.  “We need to land!  She’ll need to push soon!”

 

“Boggs!” Dad calls, not taking his eyes off of me.  “Boggs, how much longer?”

 

Before Boggs can answer the hovercraft suddenly rolls to the side, accompanied by a nearly deafening crashing sound as Mom throws her body over mine like a shield.  Dad manages to catch Peeta’s chair right before it tips over.

 

“We’re taking fire!” Haymitch yells from near the front of the hovercraft.  “Prepare to land in three minutes!”

 

“Momma!” I yell through the nearly overwhelming pain.  Sweat is pouring down my face, and my arms are shaking uncontrollably as I try to hold myself up.  Mom slides one of the black vests over my head, then instructs Dad to pick me back up as she hands another vest to my sister.  I brace my upper body against Dad’s chest, biting down so hard on my bottom lip I nearly draw blood.

 

“I can’t do this anymore!” I cry as another blast hits the hovercraft, this time on the opposite side.  “I can't do it!  I’m not gonna make it!”

 

“Yes you will, Katniss,” Peeta cries, his white-knuckled hands clutching the arms of his chair.  “You will!  We’re almost there!”

 

A loud grinding noise sounds from underneath us as the landing gear engages.  Boggs tears down the blanket curtains, rifle in hand, as the hovercraft sets down with a violent thud.

 

“We’re on the roof, and the prepared rooms are on the third floor,” Boggs says.  “There are troops lining the way but there will be resistance, so stay close to me.”

 

“Copy that!” Dad says.  He slides his arm under my knees, preparing to pick me up when I grab his arm.  

 

“No, Daddy.  I want you to protect Peeta.  Gale can carry me.”

 

My father's grey eyes, so like my own, widen in shock as he shakes his head.  “No, songbird, I won’t—“

 

“Please!” I cry, bracing myself as yet another contraction hits, causing me to scream from the pain.  “Please, Daddy!  Please protect him!”

 

“Katniss, no!” yells Peeta.  “Don’t worry about me!  If you die, I’ll have nothing!”

 

Dad sets his jaw, preparing to argue when the sound of gunfire fills the hovercraft, as loud as hail falling on the metal roof of our old house in the Seam.

 

“We need to move out!” yells Boggs.  “Right now!”

 

Dad’s nostrils flare in frustration as he calls for Gale.  “You will guard her with your life, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Gale says.  He swings his rifle onto his back and crouches down.  “Ready, Catnip?”

 

“I’m ready,” I gasp.

 

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Boggs calls as readies his rifle, releasing a spray of bullets as soon as the ramp lowers.  I cringe as the sound of falling bodies reaches my ears.

 

“Hold on tight, Catnip,” Gale says, drawing in a deep breath.  “We’re gonna be running.”

 

* * *

 

_“I wish to know why they were even allowed to land in the first place!” Carter snaps at the Peacekeeper Commander, who’s soot-blackened face fills the large video screen in Coin’s private Command Room.  “What happened to our air defense?”_

 

_“We currently have no air defense, sir,” the Peacekeeper replies.  “Everything designed to take down an approaching aircraft was lost when the Nut was destroyed.  Our ground troops attempted to shoot the hovercraft down, but as you can see—“_

 

_“As I can see, it was a colossal failure!” Carter says, his fury growing when he notices Coin holding up her hand to silence him._

 

_“What is the Mockingjay’s current location?” Coin asks._

 

_Blinking, the Peacekeeper shakes his head, gesturing to the fighting going on in the street behind him.  “I do not have that exact information, ma’am.  It is safe to assume that she and her party have made it inside the hospital by now.  As you perhaps can see, we are being quite heavily engaged here.”_

 

_“This is completely unacceptable!” yells Carter.  “I want the Mockingjay, and her child, taken down immediately!”_

 

_“Belay that order, Commander,” Coin says, her voice eerily calm even as her steely eyes glare bullets at Carter.  “Focus your firepower instead on the two Ellipses soldiers.  If we can prevent them from receiving their life-saving treatment, then there will be no need to take out the Mockingjay.  Their loss will do her in on its own.”_

 

_“But—“ Carter stutters._

 

_“Those are your orders, Commander,” says Coin, waving her hand.  “Carry them out immediately!”_

 

_The Peacekeeper nods grimly.  “Yes, ma’am.”_

 

* * *

 

_“Commander Paylor,” Lieutenant Williams says, panting from his hundred meter sprint down the battle-scarred Capitol street.  “We’ve just intercepted a communication from the President’s Mansion, ordering Peacekeepers to specifically target the two Ellipses soldiers inside the hospital.”_

 

_“Distance to hospital?” asks Paylor._

 

_“Two blocks directly west of here, ma’am,” replies Williams._

 

_“All right, then that’s where we're heading.  Relay to Lyme that she’s to keep as many Peacekeepers engaged in Two as possible.” Paylor says.  She pulls her spare clip from her uniform pocket and reloads her rifle.  “We have orders from Commander Boggs to shoot on sight anyone who attempts to halt our advance.”_

 

_“Even if we run into President Coin, ma’am?” Williams asks._

 

_Paylor fixes him with a hard stare as she readies her rifle.  “Yes, Mr. Williams.  President Coin became our enemy the moment the first shot was fired upon the Mockingjay’s hovercraft.  Now, let’s get to that hospital.”_

 

* * *

 

If I thought laboring while flying in a freezing cold hovercraft full of people was rough, laboring while running down a hospital hallway being pursued by Peacekeepers is even more hellish.  My stomach is so tight I feel as though my skin might split open, and the pressure building between my legs is growing stronger with each step that Gale takes.  Behind us, Peeta’s as pale as I've ever seen him, his hands clamped so tightly on the armrests of his wheelchair that I’m sure they’ll have to be pried loose.

 

“We have to stop!” I shriek, pushing against Gale’s chest as I try to double over.  “I need to stop!”

 

“We’re dead if we stop, Katniss,” Gale mutters, turning and firing a shot directly into the chest of a Peacekeeper thirty feet away.  “Try and stay calm, we're almost there.”

 

Three steps later we arrive at a huge elevator, which Boggs is holding open for us even as he continues firing shots at the enemy.  “Paylor’s on her way here with her troops,” he says once the doors slide closed behind Finnick and Rye.  “I’ve sent Primrose and Beetee on ahead with Thresh, Johanna, and Haymitch to prep the equipment for the transplants.”

 

Suddenly I feel it.  The almost uncontrollable urge to bear down.  “Momma!  She’s coming, the baby’s coming!  I can’t stop her!”

 

“Short, shallow breaths, Katniss,” my mother says, squeezing my hand.  “Take short, shallow breaths through the contractions until we can make sure everything is ready.”

 

I shake my head, trying to keep from writhing right out of Gale’s grip from the intense pain and pressure.  “I can’t!  I can’t take it anymore!”

 

“You can, love,” Peeta says, his voice strong and true.  “I know you can.”

 

As the elevator slows down approaching the third floor, I can hear the piercing sounds of gunfire coming from the hallway.

 

“Prim!!”

 

“I’m sure she’s fine, songbird.  Haymitch and Johanna are with her,” Dad says, gripping the handles of Peeta's chair.  But his voice is trembling and his face is pale, like ash.  Peeta and I exchange one last terrified look just as the doors slide open.  Boggs pokes his head around the side and almost immediately drops to the floor, blood pooling on the polished linoleum from a bullet hole in his temple.

 

“Boggs!” I scream.  But he’s dead.  There’s nothing we can do for him.  Gale drops me onto the floor of the elevator and ducks behind the edge of the door, aiming his rifle to take out the Peacekeeper who fired the fatal shot.  The body drops a split second later.

 

“Nice shot,” I hear Dad mutter from somewhere behind me.

 

“Clear!” calls an unfamiliar voice from down the hall.  “The hallway is clear!”

 

“Who says?” Gale asks as he picks me back up.

 

“Lieutenant Williams, of the Rebel army,” comes the reply.  “Commander Paylor has the place surrounded.  You are clear to proceed.”

 

Gingerly stepping over Boggs’ lifeless body, Gale takes only three strides to reach the already prepped hospital room, with separate isolation sections off to either side.  Through the large window to the right I can already see two gowned and gloved nurses waiting to take Rye from Finnick.

 

“Peeta needs to be over here,” Haymitch says, pointing to the opposite side where Beetee and another nurse are waiting for him.  Dad wheels him over as Gale sets me down on the bed, lined with a long, waterproof mat.  Mom immediately moves me into a squatting position, with my hands braced on the bars attached to the sides and Prim supporting me from behind.

 

“Okay, Katniss.  I want you to bear down hard on your next contraction,” Mom says as she finishes donning a pair of gloves.  “Your body’s ready to push, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

 

I can only nod, still numb from the loss of Boggs when the contraction begins.  “Here it comes!”

 

“Push, Katniss!” Mom commands.  I bear down as hard as I can, grunting with the effort as Prim holds me up and counts to ten.  I can actually feel our daughter moving downward as I push.

 

“You’re doing great, songbird,” Dad says, trying to smile just as all the remaining color drains from his face, and he collapses into a heap on the floor.

 

“Daddy!!” I cry, the pain from the next contraction nearly knocking me off the bed as I lean over, trying to determine if my father is alive or dead.  Haymitch rushes to his side, feeling around his neck for a pulse.  Mom takes one step towards him and stops, shaking her head as she wraps her hands around my arms, placing my fingers back on the bars.

 

“I’ve got a pulse, Lily,” Haymitch says.  “Gale, help me get him into this chair!”

 

Gale snaps to attention, lifting Dad into Rye’s discarded wheelchair.  “He must’ve taken a bullet on the way in.”

 

“He’s been shot?” I cry in between my panting breaths.  “Where?”

 

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” says Haymitch as he and Gale wheel my father towards the door.  “We’ll take care of him.  You just concentrate on that baby.”

 

“Katniss, you need to push!” Mom says, her voice thick with repressed tears.  Her hands reach between my legs.  “I can feel her head, Katniss!  Keep pushing!”

 

“You can do it, Katniss!” Prim whispers in my ear.  “Just one more push.”

 

I draw in as deep a breath as I can and nod, pursing my lips as I bear down with every last ounce of my remaining strength.  The burning sensation in my groin flares and flares until I’m certain it's going to consume me, and then suddenly, everything in my lower body seems to exit out of me all at once.

 

“She’s here, Katniss, she’s here!” Mom cries as I collapse backward onto the bed, exhausted and sobbing.  Mom guides the rest of my daughter’s body out of me, placing her on my chest as Prim moves down to the end of the bed with the equipment needed to collect the umbilical cord.  I wrap my arms around my squalling daughter as my eyes take her in; the slight olive tint to her pink skin and a shock of dark hair covering her little head.  She even has a tiny dimple in her chin, just like her daddy.

 

“You are the most precious thing I've ever seen,” I whisper against her tiny forehead.  “Wren Mellark, our sweet baby songbird.”  I’m so taken with her that I barely even notice my mother instructing me to push out the afterbirth.

 

“She's so beautiful, Katniss!” I hear Peeta exclaim through his window.  “Almost as beautiful as her Momma.”

 

“She is beautiful, Peeta!” I say, carefully holding her up so he can better see her face.  “Look what we made together!”  Wren’s eyes open as I lower her back down, revealing the bright blue irises that run so prevalent in the Mellark family.  “She’s even got your eyes!”

 

“She couldn’t be any more beautiful, love,” Peeta says.  “She’s just perfect!  I can't wait to hold her!”

 

Through tear-filled eyes, I watch as Prim clamps off the cord on both ends before cutting it free and placing it into a surgical container, immediately handing it off to a nurse to be prepped for infusion into Peeta and Rye.  The lifesaving stem cells from my miracle daughter, born in the middle of a battlefield.

 

“Let’s have her eat now, Katniss,” Mom says.  “Then we’ll get her weighed and you both cleaned up so you can rest.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” I reply, still in a daze as Mom helps me position our sweet Wren at my breast.  She latches on right away, her tiny fists holding my breast in place as she suckles.

 

“Mom, go and be with Dad,” Prim whispers as she returns from preparing the infusions.  “I'll stay with Katniss and the baby.”

 

A tear slips down my mother’s pale cheek as she nods.  “Thank you, darling.”

 

Just as she turns for the door, Haymitch walks back in.  “They’ve taken him into surgery, Lily.  He took a bullet in the chest, but they say he should be fine.”

 

“A bullet?  He was wearing a vest, wasn’t he?” I ask.  “How’d he get shot in the chest?”

 

“Doc says it was a one-in-a-million shot,” Haymitch says, running his hand through his hair.  “Bullet slipped right underneath the vest.  Almost like it curved.”

 

“This is the last close call I’m going to tolerate!” Mom snaps.  “My nerves can’t take anymore of this!”

 

“Mom, go and be with him,” Prim says firmly.  “We’re fine here.”

 

With a terse nod, Mom exits the room with Haymitch.  I look down at my daughter, still suckling away at my breast.  “You are one lucky little girl,” I murmur, running my fingertip along her tiny dimpled chin.  “So many people love you already.”

 

“The cells are running, Katniss,” Beetee says, removing his mask as he exits from Rye’s walled-off section.  “Both boys are tolerating the infusions just fine so far.”

 

“Thank you,” I whisper.  I look over at Peeta, lying on his bed on the other side of his glass wall, the red-tinged stem-cell infusion running through the IV in his arm.  His eyes are closed, but he must sense my gaze on him because a couple seconds later he opens them, turning his head to look at us.

 

“Hey,” he whispers.  “How’re my girls?”

 

“We’re doing fine,” I whisper back.  “How’re you?”

 

He holds up his arm connected to the infusion.  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

 

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard.  “Yeah.”

 

“Let’s see what she weighs now, Katniss,” Prim breaks in.  “Then we can get you both cleaned up and you can rest.”

 

Reluctantly, I hand Wren over to her auntie, who with a nurse’s help gets her over to the scale to be weighed and measured.  “She’s six pounds, three ounces,” Prim announces.  “And 19 inches long.”

 

“Small and mighty,” Peeta says with a wink.  “Like her mommy.”

 

“How about a shower now, Katniss?” Prim asks.  “The nurse can hold the baby and get her cleaned up while you’re in there.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” I say softly.  As nervous as I am about handing my baby over to a Capitol nurse, I trust that Beetee, with all his extensive research, wouldn’t allow anyone access to us that would wish us harm.  And I have to admit, the thought of a hot shower, one that’s not timed and where I can crank the water up as hot as I want, sounds really appealing right about now.

 

Prim expertly wraps Wren in a soft blanket and hands her to the nurse, who clucks in adoration as she takes her over to the glass next to Peeta's bed, allowing him to better see his daughter.  Gathering up some supplies and a set of clean pajamas, Prim wraps her arm around my waist, guiding me over to the huge bathroom, complete with a shower large enough to fit two people very comfortably.

 

“Make sure to sit down on the chair in there, Katniss,” Prim says, handing me a small bottle of shampoo.  “And take as long as you want—Wren’s in good hands out here—but don’t try and walk back out on your own.  You’re still pretty weak, and I don’t want you hitting the floor and scaring Peeta.  We’ll have some food brought in when you’re done.”

 

The shower does feel heavenly, the hot water soothing away most of the lingering pain and stiffness from my labor.  When I finally step out, there’s even a special mat that sends a small electric current through me, automatically drying my hair perfectly and with no tangles.  I run my fingers over the soft, glossy strands as I call for my sister to help me get dressed.

 

“There’s food waiting for you,” Prim says as she helps me walk back to my bed.  “Some kind of lamb stew.  Peeta said you told him about it from when you were here before?”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, my stomach already growling as the initial scent of the stew assaults my nose.  “Oh, it smells amazing!”

 

“Then I want you to nap,” Prim says once I’ve stuffed the first scrumptious bite into my mouth.  “I’ll wake you when Wren needs to eat again.”

 

I nod, my mouth too full to even attempt a response.  I manage to eat the entire platter of stew, washing it down with two glasses of orange juice.  After eating nothing but the bland District 13 food for months, my taste buds feel as though they’re on overdrive.

 

My eyelids start to droop almost as soon as Prim wheels the tray away.  “Sleep now, Katniss,” she says. “You’ve worked hard today.”

 

Laying back against the fluffy pillows, I roll onto my side, amazed at how much easier it is from just a day ago, now that my huge belly is mostly gone.  “We’re safe here, right?”

 

“Yes, Katniss,” Prim says.  “There’s two guards outside the door, and two more at each end of the hallway.  No one’s allowed in here without the proper clearance.  And Haymitch came back in while you were in the shower, telling us that Commander Paylor’s troops have already arrested President Coin and her Capitol counterpart.  We’re as safe as we can be.”

 

I look around Prim at the nurse, sitting in a chair with my baby and chatting with Peeta.  “Thank you, Prim.  For everything.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling as she draws a soft blanket up to my shoulder.  “Now, sleep.”

 

* * *

 

_Rifle in hand, Paylor trudges up the white marble steps leading to the entrance of the President’s Mansion, the soles of her worn leather boots marring the impeccable surface with unsightly black marks with each step.  Reaching the door, she nods at the two lieutenants directly behind her, a silent command to take five soldiers each and head directly to the two side entrances, thereby preventing a possible escape by either of the two so-called leaders.  Her scouts had reported no movement only minutes before her arrival, but Paylor is never one to take too many chances.  Especially on a day such as this._

 

_“Copy that,” says one of her soldiers, a young man by the name of Dalvin, if she remembers correctly._

 

_“News?” Paylor asks, pausing with her hand on the polished brass doorknob.  Surprisingly, the door seems to be unlocked.  Apparently, President Coin--or Prime Minister, as she’s been preferring to call herself lately--didn’t think it necessary to lock the front door to her commandeered home._

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” Davin replies.  “Williams reports the birth of the Mockingjay’s baby.  It’s a girl, born healthy.  The two Ellipses soldiers have begun their treatments and are reported to be doing well.”_

 

_“That is wonderful news, Mr. Dalvin,” Paylor replies.  “Any casualties from the hospital engagements?”_

 

_Dalvin lets out a sharp breath.  “Yes, ma’am.  Commander Boggs has been killed.”_

 

_“I see.”  Paylor’s shoulders sag.  It’s such a waste, losing someone as intelligent and as loyal to the cause as Commander Boggs.  It can’t have been easy for him to come to grips with the fact that the leader he’d so faithfully served for years turned out to be a power hungry psychopath._

 

_“Come, Mr. Dalvin,” Paylor says.  “There will be a proper time to mourn Commander Boggs, but there is more work to be done first.”_

 

_Dalvin nods, grasping his rifle tightly in his hands.  “Yes, ma’am.”_

 

_Entering the massive foyer of the mansion, Paylor’s radio crackles to life.  “President Coin has barricaded herself in the residential wing, Commander,” comes the voice of another of her subordinates, a woman by the name of Penny.  “Would you like us to wait for your arrival?”_

 

_“What is the status of the Capitolite?” Paylor asks.  She absolutely refuses to call the blasted man by his assumed title._

 

_“He has already surrendered, ma’am.  According to Lieutenant Dennis, he, ah, well, he pissed himself as soon as they pointed their rifles in his direction.”_

 

_“Oh, did he now?” says Paylor, fighting to control the smile threatening to take over her weary face.  “Well then.  Please escort Mr. Carter to the holding area and await further instructions.”_

 

_“Yes, ma’am,” comes the reply._

 

_Climbing the plushly carpeted stairs to the third floor of the grand home, Paylor encounters the first of the guards left behind by Coin, already disarmed, and with one hand cuffed to the doorknob of a closet.  The second guard, who apparently put up more of a fight, lies spread-eagle on the floor twenty feet away, unconscious from an apparent blow to the head._

 

_“Weapons at the ready,” Paylor says, readying her rifle as she reaches for the doorknob of the heavy wooden door.  “She may try to fight.”_

 

_But to Paylor’s surprise, Coin doesn’t try to fight.  In fact, hardly any emotion at all crosses her face as the rebel troops pour into her personal chambers.  She simply stares straight ahead, a look of faint disdain in her pale, grey eyes as she’s placed in handcuffs._

 

_“Alma Coin,” says Paylor, assuming her more authoritative voice.  “With the power vested in me by the Rebel Army of Panem, I am placing you under arrest.”  Then she turns to Dalvin, her lips pressed into a thin line as she attempts to beat back a victorious smile.  “Mr. Dalvin, get this woman out of here.”_

 

* * *

 

I’m sure at some point Prim—or maybe Beetee—told me that it would take up to six weeks for the stem cells to take root in Peeta’s bone marrow and build enough immune cells back up in his body for him to be allowed to end his isolation.  But with the sleepless nights at the end of my pregnancy, going through labor while riding in a military hovercraft, and then dodging bullets on the way into the hospital, one of which that tried to kill my father, it must have slipped my mind.  As it is, that news, combined with the sleep-deprivation that comes with a baby who’s so small that she needs to eat nearly every hour around the clock, almost sends me over the edge one particularly bad evening.

 

“Peeta’s blood counts are responding well,” Prim says, smoothing back my hair as I sob uncontrollably, while at the same time trying not to disturb the three-week old baby latched once again onto my breast.  “They’re ahead of schedule, in fact.  But until they’ve reached a certain threshold, he absolutely cannot break isolation.  It just isn’t possible.”

 

“Katniss,” says Peeta, his voice thick with tears.  He’s never been able to handle seeing me cry very well.  “Love, it won’t be long now!”

 

“You’re not alone, Katniss,” says Prim sternly.  “We’re all here.”

 

Hiccuping, I squeeze my eyes closed, pushing the tears pooled in my eyelids down my face.  “I know you’re here.  But…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.  It only sounds ungrateful, which is not at all what I mean.

 

_I don’t need guards and nurses and hospitals.  I need Peeta._

 

Prim’s eyes soften as she blots at my cheeks with a tissue.  “I know, Katniss.  I know what you mean.  It won’t be too much longer now.”

 

“How much longer?”

 

Biting her lip, she looks over at Peeta.  “With how well his counts are responding, I’d say three more weeks.  Maybe a little less.  Funny enough, he and Rye are both trending along at the same rate.”

 

“Okay,” I sputter, sucking in a shaky breath.  I guess I can survive another three weeks.  “But then, once they can come out, can Rye—“

 

“I've already made arrangements for Rye to be moved to another room, Katniss,” Prim says quickly, her cheeks during pink.  “I know you and Peeta would want some privacy.”

 

I feel my own cheeks during pink.  Both Mom and Prim told me that I’d have to wait at least six weeks after giving birth before even considering being intimate with Peeta, but right now I’m not even thinking about that.  I just want him to hold me.  I need to feel his strong arms around me, telling me without words that everything’s going to be okay.

 

“Thank you, Prim,” I whisper, more tears streaking down my face.  “I’m sorry, I’m just—“

 

“You’re just exhausted.  It’s understandable, Katniss,” she says, taking the baby from me and propping her up on her shoulder.  “Get some sleep now.  I’ll hold her for awhile.”

 

Too tired to even nod in response, I close my eyes.  And when I wake up an hour and a half for another feeding, I do feel just a bit better.

 

Slowly, the days and nights improve.  Wren starts lasting a bit longer between feedings, and staying awake for longer stretches, which then translates into sleeping for longer stretches.  I regain some of my strength, helped along by the delicious food and daily hot showers.  My father gets discharged, with strict instructions to take it easy from now on, since he managed to lose nearly half of his left lung thanks to the curving bullet.  Gale and Madge hold an informal toasting, and announce that they’re having a boy, due in early spring.  Memorial services are held for both Boggs and Commander Lyme, televised so we can watch them from the hospital.  The trials of Alma Coin and Devin Carter begin, also televised, with Caesar Flickerman providing the commentary during recesses and Plutarch entrenched somewhere behind the scenes.  Speculation begins on who will win the general election scheduled for three months hence.

 

Wren pops off my nipple, looking up at me with her blue eyes at half-mast and a trail of milk coming from the corner of her tiny mouth.  Milk drunk, Prim called it once, and it's a very accurate description.  Carefully bringing her up to my shoulder, I start patting her back, smiling when she lets out a much louder burp than one would expect from such a tiny baby.  Sometimes she even burps so loud it makes me jump.

 

As her little body relaxes against me I feel my own eyelids drooping, and after settling Wren against my chest, I drop my head back against the pillows.  It’s after 11pm already, and I’m tired.  Peeta’s already been asleep for almost an hour, having had a long day of physical therapy and blood work.

 

My dream tonight takes me to the Meadow.  It must be spring, since the dandelions are in full bloom, and I’m sitting on a soft blanket, leaning back on my arms, with my head back and my eyes closed.  Wren is sleeping against my chest, tucked snugly in the special baby wrap that Paylor sent us as a gift, handmade in District 8.  Suddenly, two strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close, gently guiding my head to lie against a muscled chest.  I breathe in, the scent of cinnamon and honey filling my nostrils as I burrow deeper into the warm embrace.

 

“Katniss,” he says, his voice soft, his breath hot against my ear.  “I’m here, love.”

 

I jerk awake at the sound, my eyes flitting nervously around the room to land on the clock.  It’s a little after half past midnight, the room is still and dark, Wren is snoozing against my chest, and two strong arms are wrapped around me, holding me tightly against a warm, solid body.

 

My lower lip starts to shake as I turn my head, and I see him, his blue eyes bright in the darkness, his beautiful full lips stretched into the biggest smile I've ever seen.  

 

“You’re back,” I manage to whisper, right before I burst into tears.  

 

“I’m back,” he echos, pulling me impossibly closer as I sob, wetting his shirt with my tears.

 

“Prim—, said—, not—, until—, tomorrow!” I manage to choke out between heaving breaths.  I draw in as much air as I can hold, releasing it as slowly as I can to help calm myself down.  “She said that she'd test your blood again tomorrow.”

 

Peeta twists his left arm, showing me the small bandage in the crook of his elbow.  “She drew it right at midnight,” he says.  “And ran the antibody test right there, in the room.  When it came back okay, she told me I could crawl in next to you while she helped Rye get packed up and moved.”  He leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead, eliciting another set of tears from us both.  “You’ve been sleeping in my arms for nearly thirty minutes now.”

 

“Thirty minutes.  Why didn’t you wake me?”

 

“There’s no way I was gonna wake you,” he whispers.  “I was perfectly happy to hold you while you were sleeping.”  His large hand reaches to cup our daughter’s head.  “Both of you.”

 

I bite my bottom lip, trying to keep from crying again.  “Would you like to hold her?”

 

A look of pure happiness crosses his face.  “Can I?”

 

“You’re her daddy,” I say.  “Of course you can hold her.”

 

Peeta slides his arms out from around me and leans back against the pillows.  Carefully, I lift Wren from my chest and slide her over to Peeta, who grasps her gingerly, like he's afraid that she'll break in half if he's not careful enough.  She wiggles a bit, digging her toes into his abdomen as she finds her comfortable position, then tilts her head upwards, towards his neck as she gathers a fistful of his shirt in her tiny hand.  Peeta buries his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply.

 

“She’s so precious, Katniss.  And she smells so good,” he whispers, his blue eyes shiny with tears.  “Thank you.”

 

“It’s the new baby smell,” I say.  “Mom says it's almost addictive.”

 

“I can see why,” Peeta replies.  He splays his hand across our daughter’s tiny body, reaching to pull me close with his free arm.  “I’m so lucky, Katniss.”

 

Lucky.  After all that’s happened, to him—to us—he still thinks he's lucky.  I will never deserve this amazing man.

 

Tilting my head, I press my lips to the underside of his jaw, the exact same place where I last kissed him, the night of his nearly fatal fever.  This time, instead of his skin being burning hot, it's only pleasantly warm, with the slight taste of honey that’s always been inherently _Peeta._

 

I tuck my head down, burrowing into his side as he tightens his arm around me.  He plants a kiss on Wren’s head, then on mine, letting out a long, shaky sigh of contentment.

 

“It’s okay,” I murmur, closing my eyes.  “I've got you.”

 

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple, smiling as he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

 

I turn even closer into him.  “I’m gonna put you somewhere where you can’t ever get hurt again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to see what you guys think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)
> 
> There will be two chapters left in the story. After finishing this one and working on the next, it just wouldn't be possible for me to wrap up the story the way it deserves with only one more chapter. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter before the epilogue! I can't thank you all enough for all the kudos and kind comments! I'm so glad you all went along on this journey with me!
> 
> I need to thank stjohn27 for prereading this chapter, and GoPinkLion for being the best cheerleader I could ask for. :) I'm so thankful to you both!
> 
> This chapter is rated M for sexual content. :)

 

It’s a beautiful late fall day in the Capitol, with the sun shining brightly off the snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance.  Through the large window of the luxurious fifth-floor hospital suite, I can see Plutarch Heavensbee entering the building across the street, where Thom and Delly’s wedding will be held in just a few hours.  He’s probably coordinating with the production crew, since the wedding will be filmed and shown all across Panem.  It’s a captivating story according to Plutarch.  The Rebel hero, wrongly imprisoned by the would-be tyrants, now released to wed his district sweetheart, who he met when they were forced to flee after their home was destroyed.  What better way to distract people from the fact that the executions for those would-be tyrants will be held only a couple of weeks after the wedding.

 

Peeta, Wren, and I were moved up here a few days after he was released from isolation.  With Peeta still requiring frequent blood draws to check his antibody levels, daily physical therapy for his leg and hand, and twice-weekly treatments to help fade the flogging scars on his back and shoulders, it made more sense to stay here in the hospital so he could have easier access to the doctors and therapists, rather than temporarily move into the President’s mansion a couple blocks away, where many of the rebels are currently stationed.  My mother and father also declined Plutarch’s offer to move into the mansion, saying they felt more comfortable staying here while my father recovers from the bullet wound he sustained during the hospital battle.

 

Peeta’s also started seeing a head doctor, or as Prim calls him, a mental health specialist.  Dr. Aurelius, a balding, grey-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses and a perfectly pressed white coat, spends an hour with Peeta every day after lunch.  I was suspicious of him when I first met him, but he seems to be helping Peeta work through some of the lingering psychological effects of his capture and torture.  He warned us that due to the high doses of tracker jacker venom Peeta received, he may experience flashbacks from time to time; instances like that night back in Thirteen when he couldn’t tell if I was real or not because he couldn’t touch me.  

 

We also discovered that Peeta reacts quite strongly, almost violently, to being startled.  Dr. Aurelius advised me to be sure to make noise whenever I approach Peeta before he's seen me, so as not to surprise him and send him into a flashback.  And the one time I left the room with Wren without telling him, because she was fussy and I didn’t want to wake him, did not go well at all.  He ended up waking in a panic only minutes later, hobbling into the hallway screaming because he couldn’t find us.  It took him over two hours to calm back down following that incident.

 

“There we go, sweet baby songbird.  Nice and dry,” Peeta coos to our daughter as he finishes fastening her diaper.  Wren wiggles and kicks, giving her daddy a wide, toothless smile as he picks her up off the bed and kisses her tiny button nose before handing her to me so I can feed her.

 

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,” I say, sitting down in the bright pink, plush reclining chair next to the bed.  

 

“I am aware of that fact, and I am completely fine with it,” Peeta replies, flashing me one of those smiles that makes the butterflies flutter in my stomach.  Wren started sleeping for four- to five-hour stretches at night only about a week ago, and I’m just now starting to emerge from that newborn-mothering survival mode my mother warned me about.  For awhile I wasn’t sure if I ever would feel anything ever again besides bone-numbing exhaustion, and it was both a surprise and a relief when I woke up one morning, looked over at Peeta sleeping next to me, and remembered that he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

 

Getting Wren settled at my breast, I return my husband’s smile, holding out my hand to him.  “Being a daddy suits you well, Peeta.”

 

“You suit me well,” he murmurs as he leans over to kiss my hand.  “You both do.”

 

I’ve just switched Wren to the other breast when there’s a knock at the door.  

 

“Come in,” Peeta says, handing me a blanket just as Effie Trinket steps into the room, dressed in a bright yellow and purple dress with a matching yellow wig.  Her arms are loaded down with garment bags, presumably our outfits for the wedding today.

 

“It’s a big, big, big day today, my dears!” she exclaims, her bright yellow stiletto heels clacking on the hard floor as she places the bags carefully down on the massive bed.  “Cinna was able to complete these outfits only this morning.  All custom-made, including one of those baby wraps for you, Katniss.  Oh, aren’t you sure you wouldn’t rather have a pram for the baby?  I’m sure we could find one to match what you’re—”

 

“No, thank you, Effie,” I say firmly.  Apparently no one in the Capitol has ever heard of babywearing, instead choosing to spend thousands of coins on fancy, designer pushcarts for their babies to ride in.  In District 12, where mothers often had to return to work only days after the birth of their babies, babywearing is an essential tool, allowing the baby to remain close to Momma while still leaving the mother’s hands free for everything else she needs to accomplish.  I can vividly remember my mother wearing a baby Prim tied to her back while we worked in the garden behind our house in the Seam, planting some of the herbs she used in her work as a healer.

 

“Katniss prefers to have Wren close by at all times,” Peeta says, kindly but firmly.  “And so do I.  In fact, it was recommended by one of my doctors that she not leave my sight unless absolutely necessary.”

 

Shaking her head, Effie clucks in annoyance.  “Very well.  It’s just such a shame to have to hide so much of this beautiful dress that Cinna made especially for you.”  Sniffing, she straightens her back as she heads for the door.  “There will be a prep team coming by in about thirty minutes to help you dress.  I will see you all at the wedding.”

 

Peeta turns to me as soon as the door closes behind her.  “Prep team?  Why would I need someone to help me get my clothes on?”  His eyes flick over to the garment bags, as if he expects them to spontaneously burst into flame.  “What in the world is in those bags?”

 

I shrug my shoulders, sitting up to burp Wren.  “I don’t know.  Dad told me that some people who live here are so wealthy, they don’t hardly do anything for themselves.  Maybe that’s where it comes from.”

 

Raising his eyebrows, Peeta shakes his head as Wren lets out a loud burp, followed immediately by another knock at the door.

 

“Come in,” Peeta says.

 

To our surprise, it’s not the prep team Effie mentioned that steps into the room, but Rye Mellark.  And my sister, holding onto the crook of his arm.  We haven’t seen that much of Rye since he was moved out of the isolation room we all shared.  Prim had mentioned he was also receiving some physical therapy, as well as seeing Dr. Aurelius every day, but this is the first time he’s actively sought us out.

 

The two of them step into the room, with Rye looking around nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard.  Prim keeps a firm grip on his arm, a fierce expression on her face that I’ve never seen before.

 

“Um…” Rye starts, his pale face flushing red as he clears his throat.  “Hey, Peet… Katniss… um, how’re you guys doing?”

 

“Would you like to sit down?” Peeta asks politely, indicating the plush twin couches over by the window.  He offers his hand to help me stand up.  “I think it’d be more comfortable.”

 

“Sure,” Rye says, nodding as he covers Prim’s small hand with his own and squeezes.  “Yeah, that sounds good, thanks.”

 

Peeta and I take one couch while Rye and Prim take the other.  There’s a few seconds of awkward silence, only broken by the sound of Wren shaking her toy rattle as we all fidget and stare at each other, with me fighting to keep the scowl off my face.

 

“So,” Peeta finally asks.  “How’re you doing, Rye?”

 

“I’m good,” Rye says quickly, his face flushing even redder.  “I mean, um, I’m getting there, Peet.  It’s been tough, but… I’m getting there.  Dr. Aurelius says I’m making good progress.”

 

“That’s good—”

 

“Prim said it was time that I came in here and talked with you,” Rye interrupts, shooting a quick glance at my sister.  “And Dr. Aurelius agreed with her, so… here I am.”  He draws in a deep, shuddering breath, his gaze trained on Peeta’s scarred right hand, resting on my arm.

 

“I’m sorry, Peeta,” he says, his blue eyes filling with tears.  “I’m sorry that I wasn’t stronger.  I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly.  I’m sorry that I couldn’t help myself.  I’m sorry—”

 

“Stop!” Peeta says, shaking his head.  “Just… stop it, Rye.  This isn’t necessary—”

 

“Yes, it is!” Rye says loudly, immediately apologetic when Wren jumps in my arms.  “I mean, yes, it is.  I need to tell you, Peet.  I need to make sure that you know how sorry I am.  For everything.”

 

Peeta’s jaw is twitching, his hand quivering where it rests on my arm.  “Rye—”

 

“Peeta told me you tried to stop him,” I blurt out, past the marble-sized lump in my throat.  Both boys turn to me in surprise.  “The man in black, when he came into the bakery to take Peeta, you tried to stop him.  You fought with him, because you were trying to protect your brother.”

 

“Yeah?” says Rye.  “So?  That doesn’t excuse—“

 

I bite my lip, glancing quickly at my sister, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod.  “That was the real you, Rye.  The big brother trying to protect the younger one.  What Ellipses did to you, what they turned you into, that wasn’t the real you.  You were hijacked.  Turned into something you’re not.  And that’s who hurt Peeta.”

 

A single tear slips down Rye’s cheek, and he sniffs as he brushes it away.  “But Peeta did fight,” he says, looking at his brother.  “You did.  You managed to fight against the venom, fight against the manipulation, because you had someone you loved to anchor you.  I didn’t—.”  He pauses, squeezing Prim’s hand.  “I was always too busy chasing every new girl who crossed my path to try and love any of them.  I think it was my way of trying to—, well, I don’t even know what I was trying to do.  I guess I thought love made you weak.  And I was so, so wrong.”

 

My heart does a flip as the realization of what he's trying to say dawns on me.  Suddenly, it all makes sense.  How much time Prim would spend in Rye’s room in District 13, keeping him company.  The way her cheeks would turn pink nearly every time Peeta would ask about him, or just about any time his name was mentioned.  Sometime over the course of Rye and Peeta’s illness, Rye Mellark fell in love with my sister.  And she with him.

 

 _Wait just a minute!  She’s way too young for him!_   _She’s only fifteen, she’s not even done with school!  And he’s—_

 

“Do you have some news for us, Rye?” Peeta asks, interrupting my thoughts.  He smiles, gesturing at Rye and Prim’s joined hands.

 

Rye lets out a small cough as Prim blushes.  “Um, yeah, actually.  Prim and I, well, we’re—“

 

“I love him,” Prim blurts, squaring her shoulders.  “We’re planning to be married.”

 

“Married?  You’re only fifteen, barely fifteen!” I say.  I’m appalled at how much I sounded like our mother just now.  “You’re way too young to—“

 

“You were in love with Peeta when you were fifteen,” Prim says defiantly.  “You just hadn’t admitted it to yourself yet.”

 

“But that was different!” I protest.  “Peeta and I were—“

 

“Friends first?” Prim says, her blue eyes narrowing.  “That's what you were gonna say, isn’t it, Katniss?  Well, Rye and I were friends first, too.”

 

“She’s right,” Rye says.  “In fact, for a long time she seemed like my only friend.  The only person who could look at me and not see the robotic killing machine.  Not see the monster who helped torture his little brother.  She only saw _me._ ”  He looks over at Prim, and I watch as his eyes brighten and he instinctively leans towards her.  His entire countenance relaxes as he smiles at her, and the familiarity of it shocks me.  It’s exactly what Peeta does when he looks at me.

 

“I tried to fight it, at first,” Rye continues.  “I didn’t want to believe that someone so lovely, and so pure, could possibly love a monster like me, or even the type of person I was before we were taken.  She deserves so much better than the player and troublemaker that I was.  But she crept up on me, and as the weeks went on, I found I couldn’t fight how I felt anymore.  Every morning I’d count down the minutes until she walked through the door of my room, and every night when she left, I’d count the hours until she returned.”  Shifting their hands, he laces their fingers together.  “She makes me happy, and I love her.”

 

As if on cue, Wren gives her rattle a hard shake, breaking the silence that follows Rye’s pronouncement.

 

“Katniss and I are both happy for you,” Peeta says with a kind smile.  “Truly.  You couldn’t ask for a sweeter girl.”

 

“And he's been the perfect gentleman, Katniss,” Prim says.  “He even asked Dad’s permission to court me before he kissed me for the first time.”

 

My eyes widen in shock.  “You did what—?”

 

“Katniss, I’m not that scared, skinny, eight-year-old girl you have to protect anymore,” Prim says.  “I’m fifteen now.  Plutarch says they’re building a brand-new, state-of-the-art hospital in District Four, so I’m planning to go there and finish my training to become a doctor.  With how much I learned while we were in Thirteen, I should only have three years left.”

 

“And then we’ll be married,” says Rye.  “Once she's eighteen and done with school.”

 

Peeta squeezes my hand, sending me a ‘keep quiet’ look with his eyes.  “That's wonderful, Prim.  I know you’ll be a fantastic doctor.”

 

“She’ll be the best District Twelve has ever seen,” Rye says proudly.  “It’s going to be perfect, because there's plans to build a medicine factory in Twelve, along with a brand-new medical clinic, so she’ll have access to all the best new medicines when she comes back.”

 

“Who’s told you all of this?  About the hospital in Four, and the factory in Twelve?” I ask, catching Wren’s rattle right before it hits the floor.  “We haven’t heard about any of it.”

 

“Haymitch and Plutarch,” Rye says, shrugging.  “In fact, they’ve been talking to your dad about taking the foreman’s position at the new factory.”

 

“Everyone’s been trying to give you guys space, Katniss,” Prim says, rather apologetically.  “You know, with the new baby and all.  And no one’s had to guess what you and Peeta would want to do; you’ve made your desire to return home very clear from the beginning.”

 

“Well, this all sounds great,” Peeta says.  “But Rye, what are you planning to do?  Will you go to Four also?”

 

Rye’s face flushes down to his neck.  “Um… no.  I was hoping you’d let me come and work for you, actually.  They're building a new bakery, right there where ours used to be.  Prim and I saw the plans, and Peet, it looks amazing!  You’re gonna love it!”  His expression falls at the look on Peeta’s face, and he glances helplessly at Prim.  “I mean, I guess we all assumed that you’d want to be the baker there; it’s what you’ve always wanted to do.”

 

“Yeah,” Peeta whispers, before clamping his lips shut.  Lifting his right hand from my arm, he clenches it into a fist.  The tremors have gotten a lot better than they were when he first had his cast removed, but they’re still there.  Not enough to cause problems with most normal, everyday activities, but for someone who’s an artist, who needs precise hand control for painting a picture or decorating a cake, it's still too much.  The one time we had Peeta attempt to paint something, after he was released from isolation, he gave up in frustration after only a few shaky brushstrokes.

 

“I don’t know if I'll be able to do that, Rye,” he says, releasing the fist and flexing his fingers.  “I can’t—, my hand still doesn't work right, and…”

 

“There’s a treatment we can try, Peeta,” says Prim.  “One of the doctors told me about it.  Apparently some people here have so many body-altering surgeries that they sometimes develop nerve damage.  It’s a short series of injections, so they might hurt a bit going in, but it’s supposed to act quickly, and the effects have been permanent so far in everyone who’s tried it.”

 

Peeta's jaw twitches as he swallows, and I place my hand on his knee.  As much as I hate the thought of causing him even more pain, if this treatment works, the end result will be more than worth it.  Peeta will never be completely whole if he’s not able to draw and paint the way he used to.

 

“Yeah,” Peeta whispers.  “I think I’d like that.”

 

Beaming, Prim nods.  “How about we start tomorrow, after your morning physical therapy?  You’ll need a couple of days’ rest between each injection, so the sooner we get going, the better.”

 

“That sounds great,” I say, squeezing Peeta’s knee lightly.  “Thank you, Prim.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she replies as she gets to her feet, pulling Rye up with her.  “We should get going then, let you guys get ready.”

 

“Sounds great,” says Peeta.  He also stands to his feet, offering his hand to his brother.  “Thank you, Rye.  And if this treatment works… well, then I’d love to have you come and work for me.”

 

Rye’s eyes light up as though he's just been given the most precious of gifts.  “Really?  You mean it?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” says Peeta, with only the slightest bit of trepidation in his voice.  “It’ll be great.”

 

“Aw yeah!” Rye exclaims, shaking Peeta’s hand with vigor.  “Thank you, Peet.  I can't wait to show you the plans they’ve drawn up—“

 

“We can talk about that later, can’t we?” I interrupt, hoisting Wren up onto my shoulder.  She lets out a loud squawk and Peeta immediately reaches for her, holding her protectively against his chest.  

 

“Yeah, sure,” Rye sputters, reaching for Prim’s hand.  “I’m sorry… we should go…”

 

“We’ll see you there,” Peeta says.  As soon as they exit the room, Peeta turns to me, his jaw clenched.

 

“Katniss, I shouldn't have told him that.  We don’t even know if—“

 

“It’ll work, Peeta,” I say.  I run my fingertips along the curve of his jaw, feeling it relax at my touch.  “The treatment will work.”

 

He holds his free arm open, and I step into his solid embrace.  “I hope so,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on my forehead and then on Wren’s.  “The bakery’s what I've always wanted.  That, and having you and our children to share it with.”

 

I wind my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.  “That's what I want too.  I can't wait to wake up in our own home to the smells of baking bread, and having cheese buns whenever I want them.  The treatment will work, Peeta.  I won’t accept any alternative.”

 

Peeta pecks my nose, laughing when Wren giggles.  “That’s my Katniss.  Now, why don’t we see what’s in those garment bags?”

 

* * *

 

We manage to get through the prep for the wedding without too many issues.  The prep team, as Effie called them, consists of three Capitol citizens who apparently all work on Caesar Flickerman’s television show in some capacity.  After nearly going berserk when they first lay eyes on Wren, they get to work, and two hours of washing, primping, and polishing later, Peeta, Wren, and I are all finally dressed for the wedding.

 

“Aren’t you just the most adorable little family!” the man—I think he said his name was Flavius—says, clapping his impeccably manicured hands.  “Just simply precious!  Cinna’s new collection seems to be made just for you!”

 

“Thank you,” Peeta replies with a tight smile, tugging on the tight collar of his dress shirt.  As uncomfortable as we were during the prep, I have to admit that Peeta looks absolutely dashing in his sapphire blue suit, complete with some sort of tie around his neck that one of the women—named Octavia, I think—called an ascot.  Wren and I are wearing dresses in the same color, complete with a matching baby wrap.  Cinna even thought to include slits in the front of my dress, discreetly hidden within the flowy pattern, so I can easily nurse Wren during the festivities.

 

“People are calling this the wedding of the year!” Octavia squeals in her thick Capitol accent.  “You’re so lucky that you get to attend!  Everyone who’s anyone is going to be there!”

 

“Thom and Delly are friends of ours,” Peeta says, kindly but firmly as he reaches for my hand.  “They deserve nothing but the best, and Katniss and I are very happy for them.”

 

“Oh, but still!” says Flavius.  “We’re so jealous!”

 

“Everyone ready?” comes Effie Trinket’s voice from the door.  She must have snuck in while we were busy being clucked over.  “We mustn’t be late for such a glorious occasion!”

 

“We’re ready, Effie,” Peeta says, huffing out a breath.  He glances down at me, cocking one eyebrow as he picks up the cane he uses for longer walks.   _Let’s get this over with_ , his look says.

 

“Come then,” says Effie, urging us out the door.  “It’s the party of the year!”

 

* * *

 

For all the pomp and circumstance, and camera crews, the wedding comes off beautifully.  Delly and Thom, although dressed in much finer clothing that they would be had their wedding been held back in District 12, and with a much larger crowd in attendance, look so radiantly happy during the ceremony and reception that it’s impossible not to be happy for them.  

 

Plutarch Heavensbee is in his element as he flits about during the reception, coordinating photographs with the right people and subtly, and not-so-subtly as the evening wears on, trying to get Peeta and me to agree to an extensive interview with one of the television stations.  Peeta and I had already discussed this, and agreed that while we would be okay with answering certain unobtrusive questions, we were not going to be sitting down with an interviewer anytime soon.  The two of us are just fine with remaining as far out of the spotlight as possible.

 

“But your story is just so inspiring!” Plutarch exclaims, clutching a crystal goblet in his thick hand filled with some kind of bluish alcohol.  “And wouldn’t it be nice to quell some of the rumors that are flying about?”

 

“Katniss and I have never been ones to listen to rumors,” Peeta says, patting Wren’s back as she sleeps against his chest.  “And really, we would just like to go home.  As soon as possible.”

 

“Ah well,” says Plutarch, taking another gulp from his goblet.  “You can’t blame a man for trying.”  He looks over at the dance floor, where Delly and Thom are talking with Caesar Flickerman himself.  “Your friend Thom has been given the District Manager’s position for District Twelve.  He’ll be responsible for coordinating the rebuilding process there.  In fact, he and his new missus are leaving for Twelve directly following the executions.”

 

“That’s great!” says Peeta  “I know Thom will do well in his new position.”

 

“Yes, yes, he’s quite excited,” says Plutarch, raising his goblet in greeting at a well-dressed woman as she walks by.  “Lots of ambitious plans for your little district.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is someone with whom I must speak before she departs.”

 

“Of course,” says Peeta.  As soon as Plutarch walks away, he turns to me, raising his eyebrow.  “Little district?”

 

“I guess some things in the Capitol never change,” I say, scowling.  “No matter who’s in charge.”

 

Chuckling, Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulders, planting a firm kiss on my forehead.  “C’mon.  Let’s go say goodbye to Delly and Thom and then get out of here.”

 

That turns out to be easier said than done.  Before we’ve even had a chance to get close enough to Delly and Thom to give them our well-wishes, we’re pounced on by Caesar Flickerman, who insists that we pose for yet another set of photographs that I’m sure will be plastered across every printed scrap of news tomorrow.  He then insists on introducing us to nearly every other single person in attendance, each of whom, of course, asks for their own set of posed photographs.  By the time we’re finally finished, half the crowd has already left, and Peeta, Wren, and I are frazzled and exhausted.

 

“I can’t wait to get back to our little district.  I’ve had more than enough of this nonsense,” I grumble into the cold night air as we cross the street back to the hospital, my arm wrapped around Peeta’s waist for support.  He hasn’t said anything, but I know his leg must be hurting.  We’ve been on our feet nonstop for over six hours, and if mine are hurting as much as they are, then he has to be in near agony.

 

“Me too,” Peeta says.  He tugs irritably at the ascot tied around his neck.  “These things may look nice, but they’re not all that comfortable to wear.”

 

“Mmm,” I mumble.

 

As soon as the door to our suite locks behind us and we’ve kicked off our fancy shoes, Peeta rids himself of both the ascot and the suit jacket and wraps his arms around my waist.  “I have to say, though, you look incredible in this dress,” he whispers in my ear.  He presses his lips to my neck under my earlobe.  “I could barely keep my hands to myself the entire time.”

 

A breathy sigh escapes my lips, my eyes fluttering closed as his warm lips ghost across my neck to my pulse point.  Wren is sound asleep against my chest, worn out from a long evening of being fussed over and cooed at by nearly every single person we met.

 

“Do you think we could try putting Wren in the bassinet for a little while?” Peeta murmurs in my ear, the deep tone of his voice sending shivers down my spine.  “I want you so badly, Katniss.  It’s been so long.  I promise I’ll be gentle, you know I will.”

 

“I know you will,” I murmur, trying to keep my knees from shaking.  My mother had given me the go-ahead for sex after my last postpartum checkup, but I’ve been too nervous to try and initiate anything with Peeta since then.  With him still so exhausted from all his therapies, and my new-mom fatigue coupled with insecurity about my post-baby body, it just hasn’t happened.

 

“You’re not too tired?” I ask, even as I tilt my head to the side to give him better access.  The warmth, the hunger that’s always there, smoldering in the background deep within me, flares to life at his touch.

 

“Nope,” he replies, still raining kisses over my neck.  “Not at all.”

 

“Okay,” I whisper.  I turn my head to capture his lips, warm and full, feeling that familiar yet thrilling fire start to build low in my belly.  

 

Peeta pulls back to look at me, his blue eyes darkened with lust, the moonlight streaming in through the picture window glinting off his impossibly long eyelashes.  

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” I say, pecking his lips.

 

“Mmph!” he growls, kissing me again.  Carefully, he slides the fabric of the baby wrap aside, lifting Wren out and laying her gently in the bassinet near the foot of the bed.  He leans over her, kissing her chubby cheek and stroking her hair as I quickly draw the curtains across the window.  Peeta grabs me from behind before I’ve even turned back around, his lips attacking my neck as his hands start to unpin my hair from its fancy updo.  

 

“Don’t you ever think for one second that you’re not still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he growls in my ear, tossing the last of the hairpins onto the bedside table and combing his fingers through the strands as he turns me to face him.  “It’s been so hard for me to keep my hands off you these past few weeks.”  He pulls my body flush against his, and I can feel his erection pressing into my pelvis.  “Do you feel that?  I’ve been hard for you almost the entire night.”

 

“I feel it,” I moan as he kisses up my jaw to my lips, his thumbs brushing along my cheekbones.  He tilts his head, deepening the kiss as one hand moves behind me to the zipper of my dress, pulling it down to my waist.  He slides the cap sleeves down my arms, allowing the dress to drop to the floor in a dark blue puddle at my feet.  Our lips meet and part as my fingers go to work on his shirt buttons, but Peeta gets impatient after I’ve made it about halfway down and simply tugs the shirt over his head, tossing it onto one of the couches.  I run my palms greedily over his muscled arms and chest before threading my fingers into his hair to bring his mouth back to mine.

 

“You’re so gorgeous, Katniss,” he whispers, his voice deep and thick with lust, his hands gliding up my sides to cup my breasts.  He carefully brushes his thumbs across my sensitive nipples and I gasp, tugging hard on his thick curls.  Peeta takes that as his cue to undo his belt, shoving his pants and underwear down his legs, kicking them aside.  I immediately wrap my hand around his cock, stroking him as he throws his head back, letting out a low, guttural groan.

 

“I won’t last at all if you keep doing that,” he rasps, stilling my hand.  He peels his socks off and moves over to the bed, holding out his hand for me to join him.  “And I want to make this as comfortable for you as possible.”

 

After shedding my stockings and underwear, I crawl onto the bed.  Peeta wraps me in his arms, his lips finding mine before he lays us down, pressing me into the mattress.  Our mouths move together, our tongues teasing and tasting before he breaks away, kissing a path to my neck.  “So beautiful,” he mumbles as his hand covers my breast, squeezing it gently.  “You’re so fucking beautiful sometimes I forget to breathe when I’m around you!”

 

“Peeta,” I breathe as he flicks his tongue across my nipple before covering it with the warmth of his mouth.  My back arches up off the bed, a bolt of fiery pleasure shooting through my body as he kisses across my chest to my other breast.  My fingers tug harder on his blond curls, my fingernails scraping gently across the back of his neck.

 

“You’re my Katniss,” he whispers as he releases my nipple.  “You’re my wife, and the mother of my daughter.  God, I love you so much!”

 

“Yes, I’m yours,” I murmur.  “Always, Peeta.  I’ll always be yours.”  My breath hitches as he slides his hand down my stomach to my thighs, nudging them apart.

 

“Oh, my love,” he moans as his fingers easily find my slick folds and slip inside.  “You’re so ready for me.  You’re ready for me to love you.”

 

“ _Peeta!_ ” I gasp as he slowly slides his finger inside me, then another, his thumb finding that spot that makes my toes curl.  

 

“I want to watch you come, Katniss,” he whispers into my ear, circling the magic spot with his thumb.  “It’s been so long.  I want to feel you, and see you.”

 

Whimpering, I squeeze my eyes closed against the pleasure that’s mounting, so intense that it’s almost painful.  My breaths come in only stilted gasps as Peeta brings me closer and closer to the edge, and I have to clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out as I suddenly shatter, my body trembling from the intensity of my climax.  Peeta’s mouth descends on mine only a second later, swallowing the moans I’m unable to keep contained as his fingers coax every ounce of pleasure from me, until it becomes too much and I have to push his hand away.  He withdraws his hand, his lips still slanting over mine, his tongue teasing and stroking my own, his cock thrusting lightly but insistently against my thigh.

 

“Are you ready, Katniss?” he whispers, settling in between my legs.  “I’ll go slow, I promise.”

 

After a quick glance to check on Wren, I hook my legs around his thighs and reach down, wrapping my hand around his cock to guide him to me.  

 

“I’m ready.”

 

Drawing in a deep breath, Peeta starts to push in slowly, moving in an inch or so and then pulling back, making sure I stay comfortable.  I can feel the tension in his neck and shoulders as he tries to hold himself together.  Once he’s completely sheathed inside me he squeezes his eyes closed and drops on top of me, his heavy breaths hot against the side of my neck.

 

I trail my fingertips slowly up his smooth, strong back, delighting in the shiver my touch evokes.  

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice gravelly.  “I just—, _damn—,_ I just need a minute.  You feel too good.”

 

“Take your time,” I murmur, feathering small kisses to his neck and shoulders.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He raises his head, and I gasp when his eyes lock with mine, blackened and shiny with tears.  “Katniss—”

 

“Shh,” I say, covering his lips with my fingers as I caress his cheek.  “I’m here.  I’ll always be here.”

 

Choking back a sob, Peeta shakes his head.  “There were so many times when I was afraid I’d never touch you again.  Never hold your hand, never kiss your gorgeous lips, never feel your body pressed against me or make love to you again.  It was so hard, Katniss.  I don’t know how we did it.”

 

My heart skips a beat as a lone tear slides down the side of my cheek.  There were times during those never ending months of his isolation where I feared the exact same things.  How I longed for the feel of his arms around me, holding me against his warm, steady body.  How I didn’t know if I could make it through another minute without touching him, or kissing him.  Thoughts like those haunted my every waking and sleeping moment, but I tried so hard not to show it.  I had to be strong for him.

 

“Peeta,” I whisper, wiggling my hips slightly and moaning when he grunts.  “That’s all behind us now.”

 

“I know,” he says, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.  He dips his head down to kiss me, his right arm hooking underneath my knee while his other hand interlocks with mine, pressing it into the mattress by my head.  Tentatively, he rocks into me, watching my face for signs of discomfort.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks.  “I’m not hurting you?”

 

“I’m fine, Peeta,” I murmur.  “Please, make love to me.”

 

Peeta groans as he starts to move, the gentle rocks of his hips slowly becoming stronger as we move together.  I cling to his shoulders with my free arm, burying my face into his neck, inhaling his scent as he whispers into my ear.

 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Katniss,” he rasps, pulling a whimper from my lips with each uttered curse that falls from his.  “You feel so good wrapped around me, like you were made only for me.  I can never get enough of you, you’re so fucking perfect!”

 

“Peeta, you feel so good!” I moan, tugging on his hair as the pleasure mounts higher and higher with each move of his hips.  “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”

 

“Come for me, my love!” he says as he increases the speed of his thrusts.  “I want to feel you!”

 

Peeta twists his hips slightly, his cock brushing against that secret spot inside me, and that’s all it takes to push me over the edge.  I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I come, fluttering around him, stifling my jagged moans into his shoulder as he shudders and groans above me, his hand gripping mine so tightly it feels as though our fingers have fused together.  He drops his head down, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths as he peppers my neck and jaw with tiny kisses.

 

“You are incredible,” he says, burrowing his nose into my hair and inhaling deeply.  “You smell incredible, you taste incredible, you feel incredible.  I love you so much, Katniss.”

 

We remain locked together in our embrace until Peeta softens and slips out of me.  Then he rolls us over so I’m draped over his strong upper body, my head lying on his chest.

 

“We should try and shower before Wren wakes up,” I murmur a few minutes later.  I shoot a quick glance at the bassinet, where Wren’s head is now facing the other direction, her little knees tucked under her and her tiny bum sticking up.  It won’t be long before she wakes up, wanting to eat again.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Peeta says, stifling a yawn.  “But let’s wait a couple more minutes.  I just want to lie here with you a bit longer first.”

 

I press a kiss to his chest, combing my fingers through the soft hair between his pecs.  “Okay.”

 

Neither of us make it to the shower before we’re both asleep.

 

* * *

 

Prim shows up at our door the next day with the first of Peeta’s hand treatments right after his morning physical therapy session.  She wasn’t lying when she said the injections might hurt going in.  Peeta tries to be stoic, as he always does, but the sweat pouring down his face, and his other hand squeezing mine hard enough to crack my knuckles, shows how painful it truly is.  Once it’s over, he likens it to being shot up with liquid fire.

 

Even more terrifying than the horrible pain from the injection itself is the fact that it actually causes the tremors in Peeta’s hand to worsen, so much so that he can't even complete his evening physical therapy session; his hand is just too sore and unstable.  We both go to bed that night terrified that instead of healing him, we’ve only managed to make him worse.

 

But then the next morning, after a nearly sleepless night, Peeta wakes up and clenches his right hand into a fist, as he always does.  And, while the improvement is slight, it’s there and it’s visible.  For the first time in a long, long time, I feel a ray of hope that we might actually be able to cure him.

 

The second injection and recovery goes easier, since we now know what to expect, and the third and fourth even more so.  And then, the morning after his fifth and final injection, I wake up to something that can only be described as a miracle.

 

It’s the lack of warmth cocooning me that pulls me from my sleep.  Because of Wren, I’m usually the one who wakes up first.  But on this morning, when I open my eyes and bring my arms up over my head to stretch, the space next to me in the bed is empty.  Peeta's already awake, and in the dim light of the early morning, I can just make out his silhouette over at the easel that we set up near the window.

 

I slide out of bed, careful to make enough noise for him to hear me but not enough to wake Wren, who’s still snoozing next to the padded rail on the bed.  He looks up as I approach, his jaw tensing in trepidation as he steps out from behind the easel.

 

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he whispers, pulling me into a hug.

 

“Don’t be,” I reply.  I lean back to look up at him, my hands resting on his shoulders.  “Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, his beautiful full lips stretching into a glorious smile.  “Katniss, I think I am.”

 

Taking my hand, he leads me over to the easel, and my mouth drops open at what I see.  He’s drawn a picture of Wren and me, sitting in our reclining chair, with her cuddled at my breast as she feeds.  I’m looking down at her, my hand cradling her face, a smile on my lips.  The immense attention to detail; the shading where my hand touches her face, where my hair falls over my shoulder, and Wren’s tiny hand cupping my breast, is such that it looks almost lifelike, and it's only a charcoal drawing.  

 

“Peeta,” I murmur.  “It’s breathtaking.”

 

He smiles, that sweet smile with just the right touch of shyness that never fails to make my heart flutter.  “It’s not too bad for a first attempt.”  He curls the fingers of his right hand into the palm, holding it up to show me.  There’s absolutely no sign of the fine tremor that plagued him only days before.

 

“I think it worked, Katniss.  The treatment worked.”

 

I can't think of the proper words to say, so I cup his face in my hands and kiss him instead.  “Does this mean—?”

 

“Yes,” he whispers against my lips.  “We can tell Rye to go ahead with the bakery.”

 

* * *

 

The morning of the executions dawns cold and bright.  Effie Trinket knocks on our door during breakfast with our outfits of the day, again designed by Cinna, with the same prep team invading our room about fifteen minutes later to help us get ready.  Since the executions are taking place outside, there's fur-lined coats included in both of our garment bags, as well as gloves and boots.  For Wren, there's a tiny wool coat and little furry boots in a deep, charcoal grey.

 

Once we’re primped and polished, Effie escorts us down to the City Circle, where we’re shown to a special set of balcony seats along with most of the rest of our group, including my parents, Rye and Prim, and Finnick and Annie.  Security guards, stationed at each of the four corners of the balcony, wear the newly designed uniforms of the Republic of Panem, which is what Commander Paylor, our newly elected President, has chosen to now call our country.  Only Jedrek, who’s already returned to Thirteen to pick up his family for the journey back to District 11, is absent.

 

Once everyone is seated, President Paylor stands, holding her hands up to silence the vast crowd.  Behind her sit the members of the thirteen-member tribunal responsible for conducting the trial of the accused.  Once everyone has taken their seats and quieted down, Paylor indicates for the lead judge, the representative from District 10, to step forward.

 

“It is the judgement of this tribunal,” the tall, dark-haired woman begins, reading from a large roll of parchment in her hand.  “That the accused have been found guilty of all charges, including—but not limited to—treason, sedition, coercion of government officials, attempted murder, murder, and torture.  These criminals are thereby sentenced to death, to be carried out immediately by firing squad.”

 

Rolling up the scroll, the judge returns to her seat as the prisoners are marched out onto the street, each accompanied by a rebel soldier wearing a helmet and sunglasses to conceal their identity, but, judging by their slighter builds and narrower shoulders, all of whom appear to be women.  After securing the prisoners’ hands behind their backs to the posts dug into the street, they step back about ten feet, readying their weapons.  Peeta and I both inhale sharply at the same time as we realize that it's not rifles the soldiers are carrying, but bows and arrows.

 

 _We are all Mockingjays_.  

 

That had been Paylor’s rallying cry for her troops during the battle of City Circle Hospital.  The day Wren was born, the day we lost Boggs, and Peeta’s life was saved.  Haymitch told us days later that the Lieutenant to whom Paylor spoke those words then used them to help convince her to run for the newly vacated Presidency, believing that she would be the best choice to lead the country going forward.  At first Paylor was reluctant, and flat-out refused to run unless she at least had an opponent in the election.  But when it was all said and done, she ended up carrying the vote by a margin of nearly ten to one.

 

I wonder what President Coin thinks of all this.

 

“Ready!” calls the voice of the lead soldier, amplified by a microphone attached to her helmet.  The line of soldiers notch their arrows and raise their bows.

 

“Aim!”  Peeta's hand squeezes mine, and I move closer to him as the soldiers draw back their arrows, aiming directly at the chests of the prisoners.  Annie, sitting with Finnick to my left, covers her ears as she ducks her head down into Finnick’s chest.

 

There’s a pause for a few seconds as the crowd holds its collective breath.  I can see the Ellipses-trainer-turned-wannabe-leader, Mr. Carter, shaking his head and mumbling to himself, as if in disbelief, while Coin stares straight ahead, her face devoid of all emotion.

 

_After this is over, we can finally go home._

 

“Fire!”  I jump as the arrows are released, each finding its target a second later with a loud _thunk_ as murmured sounds of “Oh!” filter in from throughout the vast crowd of onlookers.  My eyes don’t leave the bodies of Carter and Coin for several moments, as if to convince myself that they’re really dead, and won’t ever be able to hurt us ever again.

 

“C’mon, love,” Peeta finally says, tugging on my hand as he stands.  “It’s all over now.”

 

“Yeah,” I say as I get to my feet, allowing him to lead us away from this place.

 

_It’s all over now._

 

* * *

 

Things happen quickly once the executions are over.  Thom, Delly, Rye, Prim, and both of my parents depart for District 12, to oversee the cleanup and construction that has already begun.  We spend a few days with Finnick and Annie before they leave for Four, promising to welcome Prim into their home when she's ready to begin her classes at the new medical hospital and school, already being built.  Johanna decides to stick around the Capitol for the time being, having met and fallen in love with Cressida, the producer Plutarch smuggled out from the Capitol, who was responsible for producing nearly the entire set of Mockingjay propos.  Gale and Madge both take assignments in District 2; Madge in the Justice Building as a newly-appointed judge, and Gale as a Commander and training instructor in the new peacekeeping corps.

 

Peeta is discharged from both his physical therapy and by Dr. Aurelius about two weeks later, with instructions to follow-up by phone with Dr. Aurelius every week, and twice-yearly visits to the Capitol for an in-person assessment.  Wren starts to roll over, a skill that surprises us one morning when she nearly rolls right off the edge of the bed.  Peeta is able to catch her by the leg just barely before she hits the floor, nearly stopping my heart in the process.

 

The morning we’re scheduled to depart for Twelve is a whirlwind of activity.  Effie brings us enough clothing and toys for Wren to keep her dressed and occupied until she’s at least three, and we end up having to find a larger suitcase to fit all of Peeta’s new art supplies, also courtesy of Cinna, who promises to keep in touch.

 

Haymitch escorts us to the train station, dressed in his brand-new Senatorial uniform.  Following the presidential election, there was an additional election to select a Senator from each of the thirteen districts.  By a wide margin, Haymitch won the seat for District 12.  His only complaint thus far about his new job was that President Paylor insisted that he get a haircut.

 

“You take care of yourself, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says, wrapping Wren and me into a bear hug.  He plants a kiss on Wren’s head, smiling as she giggles and swats at his nose.

 

“And you as well,” he says to Peeta, shaking his hand.  “You and Sweetheart look after each other, you got it?”

 

“We will,” replies Peeta.  “I can’t thank you enough for everything that you did for Katniss.  For us both.”

 

A slight blush creeps up Haymitch’s grizzled face, and he claps Peeta on the shoulder.  “Don’t mention it.  Us folks from Twelve have to stick together, right?”

 

It’s just after midnight when the train pulls into the station in Twelve.  Rye is there to greet us as we step onto the platform, looking far more wide awake than anyone should at this late hour.  In fact, it's probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him.  There's such a spring in his step he’s practically bouncing.

 

“Just wait ‘til you see it, Peet,” he says, loading Wren’s massive suitcase and Peeta's art supplies onto a hand trolley.  “It’s twice as big as our old one, and Thom made sure to include everything I asked for.  There's even separate kneading areas for different types of bread, so we won't have anymore stray raisins winding up in the cinnamon rolls.”

 

Even though it’s dark, we can easily see the progress Thom and his reconstruction crews have made in the short time they’ve been here, and it is remarkable.  The foundations for the new medicine factory have already been dug and poured, and there's an entire small neighborhood of new housing already completed, with more in various stages of construction

 

As we approach the Square, the outlines of several of the new shops come into view, with one building in particular appearing to be already completed.  Only a few minutes later, we arrive in front of the brand-new Mellark’s bakery, a beautiful, two-story building.  Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Rye unlocks the front door and ushers us inside, the smells of fresh wood and paint assaulting our senses.

 

“The downstairs isn’t finished yet, obviously, and I’ll show you around more sometime when it’s light outside,” Rye explains, sweeping his hand around the large front section, the countertop piled high with supplies.  “I just wanted you to have a quick look before I took you to your new house.”

 

That stops Peeta short.  “New house?  Aren’t we going to be living above the bakery?”

 

“They built a small, studio apartment above the bakery,” Rye says, trying to hide the smile stretching across his lips.  “But it's really only big enough for one person, or maybe a married couple.  Not really large enough for a family.”

 

Peeta's eyebrows knit together in confusion.  “But… then, where—?”

 

“Follow me,” says Rye, leading us back out of the bakery and around the side.  As soon as we get behind it, my eyes immediately land on the old apple tree, where I collapsed in the rain all those years ago.  Where I thought all hope had been lost until Peeta threw me those two burned loaves of bread, the raisin and nut bread that sparked our relationship.  The tree apparently survived the both the destruction of the bakery, and the firebombs that took out the rest of the district. And standing slightly behind it, partially hidden by its branches, is a small, brand new house.  The perfect size for a family in Twelve.

 

 _How fitting_ , I think.   _To have our new home built under the shelter of the tree that brought us together.  It’s a survivor, just like us._

 

“Oh, wow,” murmurs Peeta.  His hand rests on the small of my back as we walk towards the house.  Fishing another set of keys from his pocket, Rye hands them to Peeta to unlock the door.

 

“Here’s the living room,” Rye says, setting our luggage down by the door.  “Bedrooms are down the hall, and the kitchen, Peet, is huge and open.  Just like I knew you’d want it.”

 

My lower lip starts to shake as I look around the fully furnished and stocked home.  I know Rye is trying, perhaps a bit overly so, to make up for the hurt and pain he caused Peeta.  I also know that, in my eyes, it's going to take more time for me to not still see him as Soldier Seventeen, the monster who tortured my husband to within an inch of his life, and who threw me into a pit and left me for dead.

 

But I also know for Peete's sake, and for my sister’s now as well, that I need to try.

 

“Thank you, Rye,” I say quietly, my arms wrapped protectively around my sleeping daughter.  “For everything.”

 

His blue eyes widen in surprise, and he nods.  “You’re welcome, Katniss.”  He awkwardly clears his throat, handing Peeta both sets of keys.  “I’ll, um, leave you guys alone then, let you get to bed.  I’m sure you're exhausted after the long train ride.”

 

“We are pretty tired,” Peeta says kindly.  “But how about tomorrow you show me around some more?  Maybe after breakfast?”

 

“Sure!” Rye exclaims.  “That sounds great!  Ah, enjoy your first night home.”

 

“Thank you,” Peeta says.  After locking the front door behind his brother, he takes my hand, leading me into the largest of the three bedrooms, furnished with a simple double bed, a wide dresser, and a padded rocking chair in the corner by the window.  There's even a decorated crib, complete with a soft, embroidered blanket, pushed right up against the bed, with one side removed so Wren can cuddle up right next to me if she wants to.  Somehow I have a feeling my mother and Prim had a hand in decorating this room.

 

I carefully lay Wren down in the crib, covering her with the blanket as Peeta unpacks just enough of our things for us to prepare for bed.  Once we’ve both washed up a bit and changed into pajamas, he turns to me, holding open his arms.  I walk straight into his warm embrace.  He holds me close for a long time, and I breathe in his scent; cinnamon and honey, both spicy and sweet.  Then his strong hands move to cup my face, and his lips find my forehead, my nose, finally landing on my mouth.  The kiss is sweet, but full of promise and hope.  Just like our new home.

 

“Katniss, this is our home!” he whispers when we break apart, resting his forehead against mine.  “We are finally _home_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always eager to hear what you think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of Ellipses! I can't believe it's actually over!
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for all the kind comments and kudos! I'm so glad you all decided to go on this journey with me. :)
> 
> Thank you especially to stjohn27 for prereading and GoPinkLion for being such a wonderful cheerleader. 
> 
> This chapter is rated M for sexual content. :)

 

The sounds of a happily squawking toddler carry across the light breeze as I approach our house from the woods, the two rabbits and one wild turkey I shot today stuffed in my game bag. Peeta will be happy; the rabbits will be perfect for his birthday dinner tonight.

 

"Weeeeeee!" comes the squeal of our daughter, Wren, followed on its heels by Peeta's laughter. "Weeee Dada, weeee!"

 

"Is that fun, little songbird?" he asks. "You like your swing Daddy made for you?"

 

A wide smile stretches across my face as I arrive at the back of the house. Peeking around the corner, I see Peeta's got Wren in the little swing that he fashioned for her out of an old tire and hung on a low, sturdy branch of the apple tree. I was a little wary the first time he put her on it, but Peeta makes sure to keep his hands on her at all times, and she absolutely loves it. Every day after he comes home from the bakery, she asks him to "sing her" before dinner.

 

"Weeee!" she cries again. "More, Dada! More!"

 

"Just a little more, sweet girl," says Peeta. "Mommy will be home soon, and then it'll be time to get ready to go to Nana and Papa's house."

 

"Nana, Papa," Wren replies, letting out another excited squeal as Peeta pushes her again.

 

"That's right, little songbird," he says. "You get to have a sleepover tonight, remember? Nana and Papa are so excited to have you stay at their house!"

 

A small sense of trepidation creeps over me, and I let out a nervous sigh. In all of her fifteen months of age, Wren hasn't spent more than a few hours away from me. Just long enough for me to spend some quick time in the woods a couple days a week while she's napping, when my mother can watch her. Or on weekends, since the bakery closes earlier on Saturdays and is closed all day Sunday. Peeta insists on taking over nearly all of her care on Sundays, saying he needs to "catch up" from being away from her during the week. It always makes me chuckle when he says that, like the two or three times a day that Wren and I just happen to pop into the bakery to say hi to Daddy, and perhaps grab a cheese bun or a cookie on occasion, don't really count.

 

But now that Wren is sleeping through the night, and only nursing twice a day or so, Peeta thought it was time for us to spend some quality time alone. He originally asked if we could leave her overnight for my birthday back in May, but I wasn't yet ready to be away from her for that long. So instead, while I was out hunting that afternoon, he and Wren baked me a cake together. A chocolate cake with vanilla frosting, covered in Rue flowers and dandelions. And while a few of the flowers were a bit crooked, when we all ate it together that evening after dinner, I decided it was the best thing I'd ever tasted in my life.

 

"All right, baby girl," Peeta says as he unbuckles the harness. "Let's get back inside and warm up a bit before Daddy feeds you dinner, okay?"

 

"Dada, Dada," Wren chants as Peeta lifts her off the swing, all soft orange puffy coat and matching homemade stocking cap and mittens, knitted by my mother for her first birthday. Wren's little legs kick excitedly as Peeta spins her around before settling her on his hip for the short walk back into the house.

 

Huffing out another deep breath, I lean my back against the side of the house, my eyes drawn to the sun approaching the tree line in the distance. Peeta won't be expecting me for another half hour or so, and I know he enjoys the time he gets to spend with Wren. The woods were surprisingly good to me today. I was able to bag both the rabbits and the wild turkey in less than two hours, which is unusually fast for this late in the year.

 

Life has been going well here in District 12. Thom and his construction crews have worked their butts off for the last year getting the district built up so that we can function somewhat on our own again, without requiring constant support from the Capitol. The rest of the Square was completed by the end of spring, including the new shoe shop, grocery store, and apothecary. Work on the new medicine factory continues, with my father overseeing the final stages of the construction at the same time as he's been conducting interviews and hiring employees, some of whom have moved here from as far as districts One and Three, looking for a change of pace from their former lives. Many of these newcomers have moved into the new, multi-unit housing buildings my father called apartments, built under the orders of Devin Carter before we even arrived here a year ago.

 

Peeta and I were too distracted with our new baby and each other to pay that much attention to the trials of Mr. Carter and President Coin, so once we got here and got settled down a bit, my father had to explain a few things. Apparently during their trials, the complete plans for the new Panem, as outlined by Carter and Coin, were found and revealed, with the details being nothing short of shocking. Plans for the districts included implanted tracking devices in all district citizens, strict rationing of food and medical care, forced labor camps for noncompliant citizens, and the worst one, the removal of all children from their homes once they reached the age of twelve, to be sent to other districts for "training purposes." Coin and Carter wanted every district citizen's first loyalty to be to the country itself, not to their family or friends. So their idea to take the children away from their families and move them into what they termed "exchange districts" for their "government re-education" was designed to do just that.

 

Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever. That was their motto.

 

Another, stronger gust of wind blows across the backyard, chilling my bare hands still clutching my game bag. Pushing myself away from the house, I walk around to the front, stepping inside—and promptly kicking a stray toy across the floor—to find Peeta sitting at the kitchen table, feeding Wren her dinner of shredded chicken, cooked apples, and a cheese bun, which he carefully broke into tiny pieces for her to pick up herself. As soon as her cornflower blue eyes land on me she starts bouncing up and down in her highchair, waving her arms and kicking her feet.

 

"Momma! Momma!" she says in her tiny, sing-songy voice. "Sing! Dada sing!"

 

"We played in the swing some more this afternoon," Peeta says, pecking me on the cheek as he takes the game bag from me. "She loves that thing."

 

"She loves you more," I reply, smiling as I move over to the sink to wash my hands. "How many cookies did you give her today?"

 

"Only one," Peeta protests, holding up his hands as he winks at Wren. "And we shared it. Wren even fed it to me."

 

"Cookie yum," Wren says around a mouthful of cheese bun.

 

Crouching down to her eye level, I plant a kiss on Wren's round cheek. "Are you excited to spend the night at Nana and Papa's tonight, little songbird?"

 

"Nana, Papa," she replies, shoving another piece of cheese bun into her messy mouth. "Nana, Papa."

 

"It's gonna be fine, Katniss," Peeta says, his hand resting on the small of my back as I stand back up. He must have picked up on the slight unease in my voice. "She's gonna be fine."

 

"I know," I reply, getting on my tiptoes to kiss him. "I know she will."

 

For all my outward nervousness of being away from my child for a night, I can't deny that I am looking forward to spending some time alone with Peeta. While we've been able to make sure to carve out time for each other from our busy schedules once Wren has gone to sleep for the night, it is going to be nice to not have to worry about her waking up at an inopportune time. One of the things Peeta said when he first pitched the idea of Wren spending the night with my parents was that he'd never had the chance to make me a romantic, candlelight dinner, just for the two of us. When I tried to protest that it was _his_ birthday, and therefore I should be the one making the dinner, he waved it off, saying that there was nothing more he wanted to do on his birthday than have a nice dinner alone with me, and then take me to bed.

 

And, being the wonderful, kind, caring, and sneaky husband that he is, he even cleared it with my parents first, before asking me. My mom and dad readily agreed, even setting up a temporary crib in Prim's room. I guess they think we need some time alone together too. Or, more likely, they just want an opportunity to spoil Wren rotten for an evening without me hovering around to stop them.

 

"I'll give her a bath when she's done eating, Katniss," Peeta says, breaking into my thoughts. "And I've already packed her little overnight bag. I thought you could nurse her once you get to your parent's house, and then by the time you get home, dinner should be almost ready."

 

"That sounds good," I say. I drop another kiss on Wren's forehead, smiling when she giggles and claps. "Mommy's going to go take a shower then. Okay, baby songbird?"

 

"Momma," Wren replies.

 

"I'll take that as a yes," says Peeta, practically pushing me down the hall towards our bedroom. "Go and get cleaned up."

 

"Okay, okay."

 

One not-so-quick shower and one rather messy bath later, Wren and I are both ready for the short trek to Nana and Papa's house. Peeta hugs her close, kissing her cheek as she wraps her little arms around his neck.

 

"Bye-bye, Dada," Wren says, opening and closing her fingers in her best imitation of a wave. It's what she does every weekday morning before he leaves for the bakery. "Bye-bye."

 

"Bye-bye little songbird," Peeta says as he ruffles her dark curls. "You have fun with Nana and Papa, okay?"

 

Wren keeps up a steady stream of chatter for the entire fifteen minute walk to my parents house, pointing out nearly every building that we pass and every bird that we see. She definitely inherited her daddy's way with words. My mother told me that I didn't start speaking all that much until I was almost three years old, preferring to use signs to indicate what I wanted. Wren, on the other hand, already speaks in sentences, and she's only fifteen months old. One of my favorite things to do in the evenings after dinner is listen to the conversations that she and Peeta have together. He tells her all about everything he did that day, everything he baked, all the customers he interacted with, and she just talks back to him as if she completely understands everything he's telling her. And while some of her words are still difficult to comprehend, they are getting fewer and more far between by the day. She is already an exceptionally bright little girl.

 

"You're going to stay in your Auntie Prim's room tonight, sweet girl," I say as my parents' house comes into view. "Does that sound fun?"

 

"Pimmy," Wren replies.

 

"That's right! And she's not going to believe how much you've grown when she sees you again."

 

Prim moved down to District Four almost three months ago, once they finished building the new medical school and hospital there. Finnick and Annie set her up with a room in the attic of their new bungalow home about twenty yards from the ocean. Prim tells me there's nothing better than hearing the sound of the waves crashing against the pier while she does her homework.

 

Arriving at my parents' front door, my hand is just reaching to knock when the door opens, revealing my father and Rye Mellark, who's apparently just leaving.

 

"Well, if it isn't my two beautiful songbirds!" Dad says with a huge grin. He steps back to let us into the house, taking Wren from me as we enter. "Uncle Rye and I were just talking about you two, and here you are!"

 

"You were?" I ask, my eyes flicking over to Rye. His face flushes as he gulps, shaking his head.

 

"It was nothing bad, Katniss," he says, trying to keep his voice light. "I promise!"

 

"Unca Rye!" Wren says, holding out her arms towards him. Rye smiles and reaches for her, but then glances at me first, as if to ask my permission. At my nod, he takes her from Dad, play-squeezing her before planting a quick kiss on her cheek. I draw in a slow, deep breath, willing my expression to stay neutral.

 

It took several months before I felt comfortable enough with Rye to allow him to even touch Wren, much less hold her. The first few times we attempted conversations were so awkward and forced they were almost painful, with both of us afraid to really talk for fear of upsetting the other. Most of our progress in establishing a somewhat normal relationship has been thanks to Prim and Peeta. Peeta works with Rye every day in the bakery, so he can't help but speak to him, plus the obvious fact that Rye is his brother. And Prim, well, after I thought long and hard about it, I honestly couldn't believe that my little sister would allow herself to fall in love with someone who wasn't, deep down, a good and kind person. Like she is.

 

So while it's still sometimes difficult, we've made a lot of strides in forging a decent relationship. And Wren absolutely adores him. It was funny at first, because it was hard for her at times to tell Rye and Peeta apart since they look so much alike. As smart as she is, she eventually learned to recognize their subtle differences. She even declared one day that they smelled different. Daddy smells like cinnamon rolls, while Uncle Rye smells like sugar cookies.

 

"You're gonna have a sleepover tonight with your Nana and Papa?" Rye asks Wren. "How much fun will that be?"

 

"Big fun!" Wren exclaims, holding out her arms to show him just how big the fun will be.

 

"You'll have to tell me all about it tomorrow, okay Wren?" Rye says. He kisses her cheek again and hands her back to her grandpa, waving as he steps over the threshold. "Have a nice evening, everyone."

 

"Rye was telling us about some of the new things that Peeta's going to be debuting at the bakery for Winter Solstice," my father says as we settle in on their living room couch so I can nurse Wren. "New cookie designs, and some different fruit pies and such."

 

"Yeah, Peeta's pretty excited about them," I reply. Peeta hold me his mother never really allowed them to experiment much in the bakery when he was growing up, thinking it was a waste of ingredients, so he's been trying a lot of new things lately. Some in the bakery, offering them as samples to customers to gauge their reactions, and some at home, with Wren and I as the taste testers. So far I haven't been able to give him much of an impartial opinion though. Everything Peeta makes is so yummy it's impossible not to like it.

 

"Okay, little songbird," I say once Wren is done nursing. I sit her up on my lap, looking into her bright blue eyes, so very much like her daddy's. "Mommy's gonna go now, and you're gonna stay here with Papa. Okay? Mommy and Daddy will pick you up tomorrow around lunchtime after your sleepover."

 

Wren blinks her eyes as she nods, her inky eyelashes fluttering. She's already pretty tired from her busy afternoon playing with Peeta; hopefully she won't be too much trouble trying to get to sleep in a strange place.

 

"Try not to worry, Katniss," Dad says as he reaches for her. He ruffles her dark brown curls, then hands her to my mother as she emerges from the kitchen. "Wren will be just fine. You and Peeta have a lovely evening, and we'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

 

"Okay," I say nervously as I look around my father to their kitchen, where Mom is enthusiastically showing Wren some of her herbs.

 

"Now this one," she says, holding a small jar filled with purple blossoms up to my daughter's nose. "This one is lavender. I like to put some under my pillowcase at night to help me sleep." Wren wrinkles her little nose as she sniffs, nodding appreciatively as Mom next picks up a sprig of peppermint. "And this one is good for headaches, and fevers, and its one of your Mommy's favorite smells..."

 

"See, Katniss?" says Dad, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "She'll be fine."

 

"I know," I say. "I think I'm more nervous than she is."

 

"That's how it always is, the first few times," Dad says, chuckling. "But please, try not to worry. We'll make sure she gets to bed on time."

 

A sweet giggle sounds from inside the kitchen, followed by clapping. Wren seems to be enjoying herself already. "Thank you," I whisper.

 

"Absolutely," Dad says. "That's what grandparents are for."

 

Since I never met any of my own grandparents, I decide to take his word for it, and after explaining Wren's simple bedtime routine for probably the third time, I kiss them all goodbye and head out of the house.

 

The low clouds that have been slowly building all afternoon long finally open up on my walk home, releasing heavy, fat snowflakes that quickly blanket my hair and coat. I smile, remembering the heavy blizzard that fell during our time in the cave. How close, and how cozy we were during that time, when Peeta and I shut out the rest of the world and concentrated only on each other.

 

Opening the door to our house, I'm immediately met with a fire roaring in the fireplace and the wonderful smells of the dinner Peeta's preparing. Rabbit stew, fresh cheese buns, and the last of the fall greens from our garden. There's even a small birthday cake that I asked Rye to bake for Peeta yesterday, while Peeta was off picking up supplies at the train station. Remembering my failed attempt to bake him a birthday cake myself, I decided to go with the second best option this time.

 

Removing my coat and boots, I pad through the living room towards the kitchen, being mindful to not be too quiet so Peeta can hear that I've returned. While he hasn't had a bad flashback in a few months now, we still try to make sure that he's never inadvertently startled. He turns to me as I approach, his handsome face breaking into a huge smile.

 

"Everything go okay with the drop-off?" he asks, sliding his arms around my waist. He sits down on the tall stool he uses in the kitchen, his knees bracketing my hips as he squeezes my backside.

 

"Yeah," I say. "Mom took her into their kitchen and started teaching her about herbs as soon as she finished nursing." I wind my arms around his neck, pulling him to me for a kiss. "Dad told me not to worry."

 

"And so you shouldn't," Peeta says, kissing my nose. "Dinner's almost ready. I'm just waiting on the cheese buns to finish."

 

I tighten my arms around him, nervously clearing my throat. "Um… how much more time will they be?"

 

Peeta leans his head back, checking the timer on the oven. "About eight minutes. Why?"

 

"Because," I say, my voice a raspy whisper as I trail tiny kisses along his jaw. I can feel him hardening with every touch of my lips. "I have a birthday present for you."

 

A mischievous gleam darkens his blue eyes. "Oh? And what's that?"

 

Gulping, I reach my hand down, cupping his erection through his pants and gently squeezing. Peeta hisses, his head tipping back as his hips thrust against mine. "Katniss," he whispers. "Don't you want to eat first?"

 

"I want to do this for you," I murmur, fumbling with his belt buckle. "Please?"

 

Peeta taught me how to bring him to climax with my hands when we were in the cave after our toasting, and I've done it for him several times in the months since we've been home. But for how many times Peeta has made love to me with his mouth, I've yet to do the same for him, and I decided his birthday was the perfect day to remedy that.

 

Finally getting his belt undone, I unzip his pants, freeing his erection. I wrap my fingers around it, stroking the satiny soft skin up and down, feeling it grow even harder and thicker in my hand. Peeta scoots forward on the stool, his eyes widening in surprise as I drop to my knees in front of him.

 

"Love, you don't have to—"

 

"Shhh," I whisper. "I want to."

 

Peeta lets out a loud moan, both of his hands tangling in my hair as I run my tongue up the length of him before taking as much as I can into my mouth.

 

"Katniss, fuck, that feels incredible!" he rasps, his blunt fingernails scraping across my scalp. His hips thrust lightly, and I look up to see his eyes blazing down at me, filled with love and desire, the pupils so dilated I can barely make out the blue.

 

Gripping him tighter, I hollow my cheeks as I bob my head up and down. His fingers tighten even more in my hair, his quiet moans growing more gravelly as he tries to keep his hips steady so I don't gag. I steal another glance up at him, and the sight is breathtaking. He looks so impossibly beautiful on the brink of his climax, with his jaw clenched and his plump bottom lip caught between his teeth.

 

"Katniss," he gasps a few seconds later. "Love, I'm there… you need to move—"

 

I shake my head, bracing myself as Peeta cries out and a rope of salty hot liquid hits the back of my throat. I try and swallow it all, but some manages to dribble out the sides of my mouth. Peeta collapses back against the counter as I release him, his chest heaving as I wipe my mouth and rest my head against his thigh, his fingers still lightly massaging my scalp.

 

"Are you all right?" I ask after a couple minutes when he still hasn't moved.

 

"Uh huh," comes his reply, still with his head tipped back. "I just need a second. You've just fulfilled about fifty of my teenage fantasies."

 

Smiling, I brace myself on his thighs as I get to my feet, tucking him back inside his pants. He slides his arms around me, pulling me in close for a deep, sensual kiss.

 

"Happy Birthday, Peeta," I whisper once we break apart. Peeta laughs, cupping my cheeks for another kiss just as the oven timer goes off.

 

"I guess it's time to eat now," Peeta says, winking at me. "But then once we're done, I'd like to fulfill a few more of my teenage fantasies with you." He presses his lips to my neck and I let out a sigh, squeezing my thighs together. "How does that sound?"

 

"It sounds really good," I murmur, closing my eyes at the exquisite feel of his lips on my pulse point. He knows he can get me to agree to almost anything just by nuzzling me there.

 

"Good," he whispers, kissing me once more for good measure before hoisting himself up off the stool. "Then let's eat."

 

We hold hands as we enjoy our delicious dinner, the table lit by a homemade candle Peeta bought from the apothecary. We talk about Wren, and about his day at the bakery. Apparently Rye had to chase off yet another set of reporters who came in this morning, trying to trick Peeta into giving them an interview.

 

"Poor guy doesn't know what to do with himself without Prim here," Peeta says, chuckling as he bites into a cheese bun. "But he does make a halfway decent bodyguard."

 

"That's good," I say evenly. _And very fitting, actually._

 

"Prim comes back in three weeks," I add. "Mom told me. For her winter break between semesters."

 

Swallowing a sip of water, Peeta wipes his mouth. "Hmm. Then I better put Rye to work while I can. I doubt we'll see much of him while she's here."

 

"Probably not," I reply, shoving the last of my cheese bun into my mouth. Peeta watches me as I chew, his fingers tightening around mine, a soft smile gracing his lips. As soon as I've swallowed and finished the rest of my water, he gets to his feet and brings our dishes over to the sink. Then he sits back down on his chair and tugs on my hand, pulling me over to straddle his lap.

 

"Now, Katniss," he starts, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of my jaw. "It's my birthday, so I get to do what I want. Correct?"

 

"Yes," I say.

 

"Well, then," he murmurs as he cups my cheeks. "May I kiss you, my love?"

 

My breath hitches as he brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones. "You know you don't have to ask me."

 

Smiling, he leans down, pressing his lips to mine. It's a sweet but sensual kiss, and I'm breathless by the time he breaks away, trailing tiny kisses down my cheek to my neck as his fingers work to unravel my braid. And even though I've just eaten my fill of an incredibly delicious meal, I'm suddenly starving for him.

 

"So," Peeta says, leaning back to look at me. His hands untuck my shirt from my waistband and slide underneath, gliding up my bare back as his blue eyes darken and my heart starts to thud. "Would you like to hear what we're going to do now?"

 

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly as parched as a desert. "Uh huh," I manage to whisper.

 

He kisses me again, his tongue slipping inside my mouth to stroke my own, just briefly before retreating again. "Well," he murmurs as his lips trail along my cheek up to my ear. "First, I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom."

 

"Peeta, your leg—" I start, but the rest of my protest dies on my lips as he covers my mouth with his fingers.

 

"Ah," he says. "You weigh less than a sack of flour, Katniss. I can carry you the short distance to our bedroom just fine. Now, please don't interrupt me again. Okay?"

 

"Yes," I whisper.

 

"Okay," he murmurs, bringing his lips to my neck, trailing along the column of my throat. I tilt my head back to allow him better access, and I whimper as he thrusts his hips up, his hardening cock hitting my very warm, very aroused center.

 

"God, I love every little sound that you make," he says, gripping my hips as he thrusts up again, smiling against my skin when I let out a squeak. "The way you respond to me, to my every word and touch. I'm so incredibly lucky!"

 

"Peeta," I moan, shifting in his lap as I bury my fingers into his thick blond curls. "Please… "

 

His lips continue their wet trail along my neck, punctuated with light scrapes of his teeth. "Then I'm going to lay you down on our bed, and once we get your clothes off, I'm going to cover every inch of your gorgeous body with my hands and mouth, until you can't help but to cry out my name from the pleasure. And I'm not going to stop until I've made you come at least three times tonight, my love. Once with my fingers, once with my mouth, and once with my cock."

 

"Peeta!" I cry, burying my face into his neck, the sweet smells and tastes of flour and honey and cinnamon invading and filling my senses. If not for his strong arms securely holding me in place, I'm sure I'd be nothing more than a puddle of goo on the floor by now.

 

"And Katniss, we don't have to worry about waking the baby tonight, so I don't want you holding anything back. I want to hear you. Every single gasp, every whimper and moan, every scream of pleasure that you've been holding back all this time. Tonight, I want to hear everything."

 

He thrusts again and I cry out, the coil of pleasure already tightening inside of me just from his heated words.

 

" _Peeta!"_

 

"That's what I was waiting for," he murmurs, nipping my earlobe. He slides to the end of his chair, cupping my backside as he gets to his feet, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to our bedroom. Laying me down on the bed, he hovers over me, his sapphire eyes flecked with lust as they trail up and down my body.

 

I fidget under his impassioned stare, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking it up. He smiles as he sits back, reaching behind him to tug his shirt over his shoulders and head. To my delight he rids himself of his pants and underwear too, and my eyes and hands roam greedily over his sculpted arms, chest, and abs to his cock, fully aroused and ready for me.

 

"Now you," Peeta whispers, fingering the hem of my shirt. "And your bra." I tighten my abs and sit up, pulling my shirt over my head and unclasping my bra as he unbuttons my pants, peeling them down my legs along with my underwear and tossing them both onto the floor.

 

Wrapping his hands around my ankles, he glides them slowly up my lower legs to my thighs, over my hips and abdomen and up to my breasts, his thumbs brushing lightly across my nipples as he covers my body with his solid warmth. He nudges his thigh between my legs and I squirm against him, trying to relieve some of the immense pressure building inside my core.

 

"I can feel how wet you are, my love," he whispers, planting feather-light kisses along my jaw to my ear. "Are you ready for me to make you come?"

 

My fingers wind their way into his hair and tug, and he grunts in response, thrusting against my hip. "Yes, Peeta, please!"

 

"That's my girl," he says, just before his lips descend on mine. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before plunging his tongue fully into my mouth, stroking it against mine. Rolling off to the side, he reaches his hand up to cup my cheek, his calloused thumb brushing along my cheekbone before trailing down my body. He winds his other arm around my shoulders, tilting me to to face him as he drapes my left leg over his thigh. His hand slides down to find my soaking wet center, and I gasp against his lips as he slips two thick fingers inside me.

 

"Do you like that, my love?" he asks as he pulls them out and pushes them back in again. "Remember, I want to hear you."

 

"Peeta!" I whimper, my fingernails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders. "Please!"

 

"Are you getting close, Katniss?" he growls, his breath hot as flames against my ear.

 

"Yes," I breathe. "I'm so close. So, so close."

 

"Tell me what you need, Katniss," he says. "I want to hear you."

 

"I need—, I need—, please…"

 

"Do you need me to touch you, here?" he whispers as his thumb brushes over that magic spot at the apex of my thighs. He circles it once and I bite my lip, whimpering pitifully as he withdraws his hand to tug my lip out from between my teeth. "No, Katniss. No biting your lip tonight. I want to hear you. I want you to call out my name as you come." He cups my cheek, kissing my lips before gliding his hand back to my center, sliding his fingers back inside me. His thumb goes to work, circling that spot and I shudder, my back arching as the coil in my belly winds tighter and tighter with each pass of his thumb and pump of his fingers.

 

"Don't stop, don't stop, please, Peeta," I whimper. "Please, I'm gonna—, I'm gonna—!"

 

"That's it, Katniss!" he says. "Come for me!"

 

He increases the pressure of his thumb just slightly, and I cry out his name as the coil finally snaps and wave after wave of pleasure courses through me. Peeta holds me tight as I ride out my climax, planting kisses along my shoulder and collarbone before laying me back down and propping himself up on his elbow to hover over me.

 

"That's my beautiful, sexy wife," he says, dipping his head down to kiss me. It's a soft, languid kiss, and I lose myself in it. We so rarely have an opportunity like this, the time to just savor each other, and I want to take advantage of every single second.

 

After a few minutes Peeta's hand starts to roam, up and down my side before moving to cover my breast. He squeezes it, kneading it gently, then brushes his fingers across the nipple as his lips break from mine and he kisses down to my neck. I suck in a sharp breath, tilting my head to give him better access as I softly scrape my fingernails up his back.

 

"You have such a gorgeous body, Katniss," he says as he kisses a trail to my breast. He flicks his tongue over my nipple before sucking it gently into his warm mouth. I moan loudly, burying my fingers back into his hair as he licks a path to my other breast, each swipe of his tongue sending a bolt of pleasure down to my core.

 

"Peeta, I need you," I rasp, reaching down to wrap my hand around his erection. I stroke him once and he groans. "Please…"

 

"Not yet, my love," he whispers against my breast, releasing my nipple with a soft _pop_. He trails his lips down my sternum to my belly, dipping his tongue inside my belly button before continuing further down. "You've only come once so far, and I want to taste you first."

 

Settling himself between my legs, he drapes one over his shoulder, hooking his hand around the other before looking up at me with an almost feral smile. My entire body tenses, my breath coming in stilted gasps as I anticipate the first swipe of his tongue over my center.

 

"Oh, Peeta!" I cry to the ceiling as he nuzzles and licks my heated flesh. One hand grabs a fistful of the sheets as the other grips his hair, holding him in place as he savors me, pausing every now and then to feather kisses along the inside of my thighs before diving back in.

 

"Remember, Katniss," he murmurs, meeting my eyes with his blazing hot gaze. "I want to hear you. I want to hear everything."

 

It never fails to amaze me how well Peeta is able to read the cues of my body when we're intimate like this. He's been able to learn in the less than two years since our toasting just how to bring me to the brink of my climax, and then back down again, leaving me writhing and begging for more. Tonight he does it twice, bringing me right to the edge of the precipice, and then backing me away as I growl in frustration.

 

"Please, Peeta!" I beg. "Stop teasing me!"

 

I feel him smile against my thigh. "What do you want, my love? I want to hear you say it."

 

"I want to come!" I moan, tugging so hard on his hair that I'm sure I nearly scalp him. "Please make me come!"

 

"That's my girl," he whispers. His hand around my thigh tightens even more as he resumes his attack, licking and flicking his tongue where I need it most. It's not long before I feel my climax approaching, and when he pauses just for a moment to say, "You taste fucking incredible, my love," I completely and utterly fall to pieces, screaming as the most intense pleasure I've ever felt shoots through me like an entire quiver of arrows all at once. Peeta continues to lap at me as my back arches off the bed, my entire body trembling with the intensity, until I have to plead with him to stop.

 

I'm barely aware of myself as Peeta plants a last kiss on each of my thighs and crawls back up my body, gathering me into his arms. He brushes the hair from my eyes, kissing my forehead, my nose, and finally my mouth. I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, and his rock-hard cock is thrusting lightly but insistently against my thigh.

 

"I don't think I've ever been this hard for you," he growls against my lips. "You're just so damn sexy, Katniss."

 

"Today's your birthday," I mumble, still too boneless to move. "I'm supposed to be spoiling you, not the other way around."

 

"Every single day of my life you spoil me," he says. "Wren and me both. You take such good care of us, love." He rolls us so I'm draped over him, tilting my head up to look into his beautiful eyes. "And besides. What better present can I ask for than to make love to you over and over again?"

 

Before I can answer, his hand curves around my neck, guiding my lips to his. His fingertips trail up and down my back as we kiss, unhurriedly, until the heat starts to pool in my belly once again, and I shift so I'm straddling him.

 

"I want to watch you, Katniss," he says, lifting me slightly and positioning his erection so I can sink down over him. A loud groan rumbles up from his chest when we're finally joined, and he wraps his hands around my hips, coaxing me to move with him. "Yes, just like that, love. God, you feel fucking amazing!"

 

Bracing my palms against his flushed chest, I rock my hips forward, feeling him slide in even deeper. Peeta groans again, his hands reaching up to cup my breasts as his jaw clenches and his teeth catch on his bottom lip. I close my eyes as I undulate my hips, reveling in the languid pace of our lovemaking. I never feel more whole than when we're together like this. How did I ever think I could live without this kind of passion?

 

"I'm the luckiest man in the world," Peeta whispers, breaking the silence. He gazes up at me, an adoring smile on his full lips. "I love you so much, Katniss. So, so much. Fuck, you're so hot and tight around me! I'm not gonna last much longer."

 

"Peeta," I moan, leaning down to seal our mouths together. His hand tangles in my hair as he digs his heels into the mattress, tilting his pelvis up so he can hit that spot within me that makes my toes curl.

 

"Peeta!" I mewl, my head dropping down into his shoulder. "Oh my God, Peeta!"

 

"You're close, aren't you my love? I can always tell when you're close," he murmurs into my ear, speeding up this thrusts. "I want to feel you come all around me." One hand snakes down between our bodies, and I cry out as he finds that throbbing bundle of nerves between my legs, circling it hard with his thumb. "I'm so close, Katniss! Please, come with me!"

 

I'm right there, waiting for him, and then I'm not. I feel Peeta start to throb inside me, flooding me with his warmth, and he pulls me right over the precipice with him as we both freefall into pure, never-ending bliss. When the waves of pleasure finally subside I collapse on top of him, my hand resting over his thumping heart.

 

"I love you, Peeta," I whisper, pressing my lips to the sweat-soaked skin of his neck and jaw. "Happy Birthday."

 

"Hmm," he answers sleepily. His calloused fingertips trail lightly up my back, causing me to shiver. "It's definitely been happy."

 

Using every remaining ounce of strength that I have, I push myself up, looking into his beautiful, half-lidded eyes. "No one deserves it more than you," I say, cupping his cheek. "Absolutely no one."

 

Those blue eyes fill with tears, and he smiles that soft, special smile that only I ever see. "You know, my mom hitting me that time when I was fifteen turned out to be a real stroke of luck. I'm not sure I ever would've worked up the courage to talk to you if you hadn't offered to make me that medicine for my eye."

 

I wrinkle my nose at the memory, of how heavy my heart was when I saw Peeta's hunched shoulders and downward gaze that day in school. He was always so embarrassed to be seen with his black eyes.

 

"Peeta—"

 

"Shh," he says, covering my lips with his fingers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I love you."

 

"Mmm," I mumble, laying my head back down on his chest. I trace my fingertip through the soft blond hair between his pecs. "I'd like to think you would've found a way to talk to me anyway."

 

A soft chuckle escapes his throat. "Sure. Maybe I would've sought you out on my eighteenth birthday and asked you to toast with me, just out of the blue." He presses his lips to my forehead. "I could see myself getting desperate enough to do something ridiculous like that."

 

Smiling, I plant a kiss on his chest. "You never know. Maybe I would've been in a particularly good mood that day and said yes."

 

Peeta cocks his eyebrow and smiles, tilting my head up so he can kiss me. His large hand curves around my cheek, holding my lips to his until we're both breathless. "I'd do it all again, Katniss," he says, resting his forehead against mine. "Every single thing that happened, I'd go through it all again to end up here like this, with you."

 

My lower lip starts to shake, and I squeeze my eyes closed to keep the tears from falling. I know Peeta means every word that he's saying. That he would willingly go through being twice captured and tortured by the Capitol, his memory loss, and the horrible illness that nearly took him from me forever all over again if he had to. I often wonder how in the world I'm worth all of that.

 

But if he thinks that I am, then I guess he must be right.

 

"I don't want to think about that now," I say instead. "I only want to fall asleep in your arms, with the sound of your steady heartbeat beneath my ear. And then, in a few hours, I want you to wake me up and make love to me again."

 

"That sounds perfect," he whispers, kissing my nose. Then he guides my head to lie against his chest and pulls the soft blankets up to cover us.

 

"I love you, Katniss," he says sleepily. "Always."

 

"I love you too, Peeta. Always."

 

* * *

 

_**Two and a half years later…** _

 

"Here, little songbird, let Mommy carry you," I say, hoisting Wren up and settling her on my hip as we exit the Justice Building. "Then you can rest a bit before the dinner and toasting."

 

"Be careful, Katniss," Peeta says, his hand holding onto my elbow as we make our way down the heavy stone steps to the sidewalk. "She's getting heavy."

 

"I'm fine, Peeta. It's not that far of a walk," I reply, softening my words with a smile. I lean closer to him, lowering my voice. "Besides, you know she'll want to stop and look at every single piece of grass if we let her walk on her own, and then by the time we get there all the food will be gone."

 

Peeta chuckles as he nods. "Yeah, you do have a point. Can't let you miss the food!"

 

Wren lays her head against my shoulder, popping her thumb into her mouth as her small body relaxes against mine. At three and a half years old, Wren doesn't take a daily nap anymore, but today has been especially busy. After all, it's not every day that your Auntie Prim and Uncle Rye get married, and it's hard work wearing a brand-new dress and being the most adorable flower girl that's ever lived.

 

"Now, Wren," Peeta chides, gently tugging our daughter's thumb out from between her lips. "Thumb is only for bedtime, you know that. We don't want you to hurt your teeth. Right, little songbird?"

 

Sighing, Wren pouts as she nods, blinking as a bright beam of sunlight peaks from between two white, puffy clouds. "Okay, Daddy."

 

"That's my girl," Peeta replies, winking at me when Wren grabs the end of the bright blue ribbon tied in her hair and starts to play with it.

 

People smile and wave at us as the large wedding party passes on the sidewalks, many of whom Peeta recognizes as customers at the bakery. Such a sharp contrast to how it was before the revolution, when not even a cheerfully sunny day like today could lift someone's spirits enough to smile at passers by. When district citizens walked around with hunched shoulders and downward gazes, and the rough streets were covered in a thick layer of coal dust. When one of the first lessons a child learned, especially a child growing up in the Seam, was how to go to bed hungry.

 

Now, there's no more Seam or Merchant. During the rebuild of District 12, one of the things that Thom and his crews made sure to do was completely obliterate any former signs of the class divide. Dark-haired, olive-skinned people, formerly condemned to a life of working in the coal mines or other manual labor, now work alongside their blond-haired neighbors in the medicine factory or the grocery shops. There's even people who've come here from other districts, hoping for a completely fresh start in the new Republic of Panem. When Wren starts kindergarten in a couple of years, her teacher will be a woman who's originally from District 11. A woman who lost both her father and her brother to Ellipses.

 

I smile as the sound of my sister's laughter carries back to us on the light, late spring breeze. She and Rye are walking at the front of the party, dressed in their best, holding hands as they lead us to their new home to celebrate their marriage. Hazelle, Posy, and my mother were up early this morning, preparing a big meal for us all to share, to be followed by the cake that Peeta finished decorating only yesterday. Gale and Madge even came in last night from District 2 for the occasion, along with their three-year-old son, Alder. Wren was fascinated for over an hour earlier today listening to Alder tell her all about the train ride, seemingly the greatest experience he's had in his entire three years of life.

 

It was a long three years of waiting for Prim and Rye, while Prim finished her medical degree down in District 4 and Rye was here, living in the studio apartment above the bakery and working every day with Peeta. It was hard on them both to be apart for so long, but they managed to persevere.

 

And after today, they won't have to be apart any longer. In a little over two weeks, Dr. Primrose Everdeen-Mellark will be the latest doctor to join the practice at our brand-new medical clinic, located on the opposite side of town from the bakery. Instead of being forced to walk the forty-plus minutes to work and back every day, she'll be able to ride on the new public trolley system that began service in the district about a year ago, once the second phase of the rebuild was completed. Whereas before only the Peacekeepers and very few select wealthy Merchants had any means of transportation other than their own two feet, now citizens are able travel the entire length of the district in only a matter of hours if they so choose. Peeta, Wren, and I rode the trolleys to the very last stop one Sunday afternoon shortly after they began running, and saw parts of the district that we'd never seen before, even having lived here our entire lives.

 

Things are good here, in District 12.

 

Not surprisingly, Wren perks right back up once we arrive at Rye and Prim's new home, decorated with flowers and candles for the wedding dinner. We all sit around their kitchen as we enjoy a delicious meal of roasted duck, greens, potatoes, and cheese buns, with Prim entertaining us all with stories about watching the seagulls diving for fish in the ocean, or practicing her prenatal exams on Annie, who's due any day now with her and Finnick's first child, a boy.

 

Once we've all eaten our fill Peeta brings out the cake, an exquisite two-tiered creation covered in iced primrose flowers tied in bunches with blue icing ribbons. Everyone oohs and aahs over the cake, with Gale and Madge both taking two pieces each, saying that the bakery near their home in Two doesn't hold a candle to Mellark's bakery.

 

I'm standing in the doorway to the living room watching Wren play with her cousins, having just finished helping my mother and Hazelle with the dishes, when Peeta comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I practically melt against him, letting out an exhausted sigh as I close my eyes, relishing the feel of his warm, steady, strong body holding me up.

 

"I'm sorry we didn't have a nice wedding like this, Katniss," Peeta says, his voice tinged with a sharp tone of regret. "I'm sorry we had to hold our toasting in a freezing cold cave out in the middle of nowhere. I'm sorry—"

 

"Stop," I say, a bit more harshly than I intended when I feel him freeze behind me. "Peeta, please, don't do that."

 

Because I'm not sorry. Not really, at least. Sure, there was no family present at our toasting in the cave, and our official wedding in District 13 took less than five minutes, and only even happened because we were threatened with separation by a tyrant hell-bent on gaining control of the country.

 

I slowly turn my head so I can kiss the the underside of his jaw, smiling when he shivers.

 

"Don't be sorry," I whisper. "I'm not really one for big parties anyway."

 

Peeta chuckles and squeezes me tighter, brushing a soft kiss across my cheekbone.

 

"Do you think we should tell them today?" he asks softly, his warm breath tickling my ear as his large hands come to rest protectively over my lower abdomen, over the small bulge there, hidden by the loose skirt of my dress.

 

I breathe in deeply, covering his large hands with my own.

 

"No, not today," I murmur. "This is Prim and Rye's day. We can tell them another day."

 

_Another day._

 

Another day where finding food doesn't require the majority of my time. Another day where I don't have to worry about being harassed on my way about the district, or taken from my home in the middle of the night by a Peacekeeper. Another day where I can enjoy the family I feared I'd never have. The family that will grow by one in just a few short months. Five months, to be exact.

 

"Okay," Peeta says. "We'll tell them another day."

 

How funny is it that Wren just happened to ask for a baby brother one morning, out of the blue, only a few short weeks before Peeta and I found out we were expecting again. We're not sure yet if this one is a boy, like Wren wants, but somehow I have a feeling it is. Wren tends to get pretty much anything she asks for, one way or another. She's one very lucky little girl.

 

My head drops back against Peeta's shoulder. He tightens his arms around me and plants a kiss on my temple, whispering in my ear about what he wants us to do together once Wren goes to sleep tonight. My cheeks grow warm, a breathy sigh escaping my lips as I listen to him describe in graphic detail how he plans to make love to me tonight. Even after over four years together, Peeta never fails to make me feel like I'm the sexiest woman alive. I can only hope he understands that I feel the same way about him. That there's no one else I'd rather spend my life with than him, and the family we're creating together.

 

Because I love him. Passionately and unconditionally, just as he loves me. Peeta and I, both together and apart, were thrown into seemingly impossible situations. Situations that could easily have killed one or both of us multiple times. Situations that two scared seventeen-year-old kids had no business being in.

 

And yet, we managed to overcome every single one of those situations because of our unwavering protectiveness and love for each other. Every single time over the past four years when it seemed like all hope had been lost, our love for each other saved us.

 

Peeta and I have told Wren the simple version of how she saved her daddy's and uncle's lives the day she was born. I think it makes the special bond between she and Peeta even more precious. She may have inherited my dark hair and olive skin tone, but she's definitely her daddy's little girl. Outgoing, perceptive, kind, and so smart it's almost scary.

 

I can't wait to see what this next little one will be like. Maybe he'll even like to hunt.

 

"Do you want to sit down, Katniss," Peeta asks. "Rest a little before we head home?"

 

I draw in a deep, contended breath, squeezing his hands. "No, I'm just fine right here."

 

Here, in Peeta's arms. Here where it's safe, and where it's warm. Where the daisies, and the dandelions, will guard us from harm.

 

Here where our dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true.

 

Here, in this place, where we love you.

 

**THE END.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to see what you all think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a review! :)
> 
> Also, if you're a MCU fan AND have already seen Infinity War, I wrote and posted a little one-shot after watching Infinity War. :) Be sure to check it out!
> 
> I do have another story in the works. :) It's still in the planning and research stages right now, but hope to start actual writing by next week. It will likely be at least a month to six weeks before I begin posting anything, as I like to have a few chapters already written before I begin posting, but keep an eye out for it! I think you'll enjoy it! :)
> 
> I'm geekymoviemom on tumblr too, feel free to drop by and say hi! :)


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